Repercussions
by thestupidgenius1123
Summary: "I sigh and roll my neck, still feeling his hot gaze on me, unmoving from across the kitchen counter. I know he knows that I'm so not okay, I know that he just wants to help. But I'm tired of waiting for help and I'm so tired of doing this." TRIGGERS AND LANGUAGE. 5 years Post-MAX. AU. Rated T.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't know if I can do this still, but let's try it.**

**Summary: "**I sigh and roll my neck, still feeling his hot gaze on me, unmoving from across the kitchen counter. I know he knows that I'm so not okay, I know that he just wants to help. But I'm tired of waiting for help and I'm so tired of fucking doing this." TRIGGERS AND LANGUAGE. 5 years Post-MAX. AU. Rated T.

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable history/background! Thankful he loves letting us play with his characters. **

M

He is exhilarating.

Especially up here.

The weather turned out more perfect than expected, and the wind is just light enough that we are capable to try new moves, to improvise, and I gotta admit—we're killing it.

The two of us are so high that to the crowd, I'm sure we look like dots. Very close, hovering dots in the sky, _way _up. So I grin at him, and reach for him while I try to slow my wings to match his.

His fingers grasp mine and I pull myself over to him, flapping gently, finally synchronized with him. I can remember when we started doing this, when it was exhilarating. The shows themselves have lost some glimmer but he—

He is exhilarating.

He lifts an eyebrow, looking effortless while he hovers, gently bobbing up and down with the slow but strong stroke of his wings. I put my hand on his chest to stop myself from bumping him and then I reach under his windbreaker and find his beltloop, tugging him _closer_.

"We're working," Fang breathes, latching his fingers onto mine that are tugging on his jeans. We've done these shows a thousand times, but it still takes focus—focus that I'm slowly tugging away while my teasing fingers wiggle into the waistband of his pants.

"We gotta give them a _show_," I excuse convincingly, and he barks a true laugh that only I get.

We've grown up a lot—especially since we started the movement and became the forefront of Val's organization. During that time, we used our chance to start shutting down the School in any way possible.

We've covered some ground—a few arrests, a few location closures—but the monster is still out there. And there's still questions.

But the life we have had since we began finding a voice as a Flock? Unimaginable. Perfect in every way. Perfect enough to make moments like this, moments so far away from the last time we ever experienced _running_...

Well, it's exhilarating, ok? I'm gonna keep saying it.

I look down, and the Flock is changing formation, cueing us to get moving. Fang and I lock eyes for one moment and then we're dropping, fast, and angling away from each other as we fall to the outside of the remaining Flock's perfect diamond formation.

"This air quality though," Gazzy comments as I stop at my mark next to him, grinning wildly. His hair is longer, and wind-licked up in wild directions. He's 13 now, and surprisingly still completely into the air shows. We do them less frequently, and on a bigger scale now than when we started five years ago. But he always gets a fresh light behind his eyes when we do this together.

I grin at him. "Put a flare on it," I suggest, and with that he takes off, as we turn our formation on its side and rise in the air.

I'm right above him now, looking down to see him spiral through the air, upwards, wings moving powerfully. Probably the best part about these shows has been discovering the new tricks we can do. Practicing for a new routine is usually the most chaotic mess of "I wonder if I can do this" and "I can't _believe _you just did that!" A slight adjustment to the angle of our wings or the power of our flap, and we are capable of moves we'd never had time to discover.

We're in final formation eventually, once we're stacked in a line hovering together in sync. The crowd I'm sure in cheering, but up here I can't hear it. And it doesn't matter. Because to this day, we don't do it for the crowd. Okay, well, maybe Nudge does. But I do it for us, and for the mission we still have.

I still have.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi, thanks for reading! This story will get dark. Jsyk. **

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable history/background! Thankful he loves letting us play with his characters. **

M

"Max and Fang! Over here, just one good one!"

There's still a part of me that cringes in these situations, but Fang's hand is gripped in mine and we know the drill. A long time ago we agreed to just be as real with each other at all times—including in front of the camera.

It's Maggie Something from Some Magazine and the details don't matter to me at all because no part of me needs to read the headlines. After less than a year of being the only teenage mutants dating each other in the media, I decided my life is healthier when I avoid the tabloids altogether. That never stops Iggy from hanging a select few headlines on the fridge, but whatever.

We shift in front of Maggie and wrap each other up, his arm slung over my shoulder. I tug him as close to me as I can with my arm around his waist, and we hold for her to snap a few shots.

"Thanks guys," she says, staring down at the screen of her camera to review. "I am still insisting I get that interview eventually."

"Fang might crack," I say smiling. "I am a closed book."

"And there's your headline," Fang says, squeezing my shoulders. We move along, catching up to where the others are refueling at the snack table in our tent, away from the press. There are maybe two or three reporters at each one of these, and they usually want the same tabloid-type content as Fang and I are subjected to. For the most part the cameras are for live footage, to post or air the show later on television.

Nudge tosses me a chilled water bottle, dropping into one of the chairs in our tent. "Where's my phone?"

"How are we supposed to know," Gazzy throws back through a mouthful of chips. "Think Trent texted you?"

"Hopefully," she grumbles.

Fang drains half of my water and hands it back. "Trent? I thought it was Alex?"

Nudge's eyes slide over to mine and she smirks. "There's Alex _and _there's Trent. And then there's Dean. Not everyone has a perfect match made for them in a lab. Rest of us gotta graze."

Fang rolls his eyes down to me and I grin at him. "How are you meeting these people?"

"Well, grandpa," Gazzy says sarcastically, "Long after your time they created an app called Tinder—"

"Never needed it," Fang cracks. "One and done."

It's my time to roll my eyes. I head over to where Iggy is lounging, head lolling back onto the chair while he feeds himself grapes.

"How does everyone feel about the show?"

Responses are half-hearted. They know they did well, but its less about the performance and more about the fact that they put aside a Saturday afternoon to do this. I look around.

"You guys know we don't have to keep doing these," I say gently.

"You say that every time," Angel says, looking up from her phone to meet my eyes. She smiles. "It's fun, Max. We still like doing it. It's just not a big deal to us."

I try to remind myself that that only hurts because I'm Mom. As Mom, I look at these kids who really aren't even kids anymore and see the ones I saw years ago, the ones who needed me and found magic in everything.

Angel, now eleven, truly has grown the most. She's eleven but could easily pass for fourteen. I remember when she started wearing makeup after Nudge taught her and Fang almost fell apart.

Iggy reaches up in my direction, palm open, offering me a branch of grapes. I take it, start snacking and leave the Momming for someone else. Things have changed, we have changed, and for the most part, I'm at peace with that.

But as we grow older, the questions get heavier, and I'm not sure we can continue to build our lives until we close the chapter of hatred and evil. We still live together in the same house, a house with provided security and wit-pro level ambiguity. But I still stay up some nights because the gnawing curiosity of whether tonight is the night they will finally come to get us keeps me from sleep. Often Fang stays up with me. We all still have nightmares; we all still think cautiously first.

It's not fully home because we aren't fully free.

"Stop being a bummer in there," Angel says, tossing a half a cracker at me. I laugh.

"I can't help it," I retort, and Nudge retorts it with me in a mocking voice.

"You always say that," Nudge says at me. I throw my hands up and head towards the food as they giggle.

Gazzy is strategically building a mini sandwich from the charcuterie plate. I look around, counting heads because it's habit—and because I'm ready to get out of here.

"Where's Fang?"

Nudge tilts her head toward the flap of the food tent. "Reporter said something about 'cracking' him."

I shake my head and open another water. Some reporters have been more tenacious than others, hoping to dig deeper into the dark side of our past. Maggie's a typical reporter at our shows, following the Flock closely and often asking actually important questions. But we try not to give the media too much to run with, so as to not interrupt our own safety. Of course, some of them want to break the case and work to bring the School down. Some of them just want to dig in our lives. I wonder often if any of them are from the School, but Fang tells me that if I think like that forever, I will lose my mind.

"Well, we're gonna have to rescue Fang from the paparazzi," I say, feigning reluctance. "Let's head home."

We duck out of the tent, everyone going at once, Iggy ducking quite a bit to get out. He's been taking classes primarily online, all of us, to get our GEDs. That's been a long process, but we get to escape the childish feeling of high school which, at nineteen, none of us could deal with.

Nudge, on the other hand, was ecstatic to go to high school. She's now a senior, looking at colleges and already decided to study computer sciences. I look over at her, grabbing the tent flap absently while typing swiftly with one finger on her phone. Her once-unruly curls are now smooth and bouncy around her face, falling long past her shoulders into little tendrils. She looks at me, blushes, and shows me her phone.

_I want to take you out tonight babe_

She looks at me with pleading eyes. Angel and Gazzy slip out under the flap she's still holding. I laugh as I move to follow them out of the opening.

"Dude, I have covered for you twice and I am not doing it again. Fang and Ig get to deal with this one," I say, unapologetic.

"Max! Please!" She drops the flap and grabs my arm before I can escape the tent. "For real. I think I really like this one and they will ruin it."

"No they won't," I say, but I'm not fully convinced either. She gives me a look that says _Exactly!_

"We will pitch it to them together," I say, and she starts to disagree. "Nudge we got this."

She groans and pushes out of the tent, and I follow her. My eyes fall on Fang first, tall and dressed in full black. He's talking to Maggie Something, but not saying much. He looks up at me, his eyes flicker with something playful, and he starts to step away.

My phone buzzes. _Saw the show. Breathtaking as usual. Be safe going home. _From Val. I respond quickly and slip my phone back into my pocket.

"Ready?" Fang appears at me side, zipping up his jacket.

"Can we order in tonight?" Iggy asks from behind him, hands in his pockets. "I don't feel like cooking. Let's get take out."

"Ooh, I want like a bucket of shrimp fried rice," Gazzy croons.

"Listen," I say, unfurling my wings slowly, looking behind me as I do so I don't hit anyone. "I'm definitely not cooking."

The others laugh, Iggy muttering a _Thank God._

"Let's go home." It's breathed in my ear, the same time two familiar hands slide up the curve of my waist and settle in the dip there.

"Chill Fang, gross," Gazzy mutters.

"Can we get out of here," I request, voice slightly higher than usual.

"Oh, I'm sure you wanna get out of here _now_, with Mr. Hot and Bothered breathing on you," Iggy mocks. He unfurls his wings too, less carefully than I did, hitting Angel gently in the back of the head as he extended fully. "Sorry kid."

Everyone starts taking off into the air and I am seemingly frozen, feeling Fang's palms spread out on my hips and slide around to tug at _my _beltloops.

"I'm going to get you back for that sabotage mid-show," Fang threatens in my ear.

I spin to look up at him, amused. He smiles down at me, but one of those hidden smiles. His lip barely twitches up but his eyes are bright. "Can't wait. Let's go home."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hope this is fun for you. For me it's free therapy. Last one today. **

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP for this chaotic universe you gifted us. **

M

As soon as we get home Fang is tugging me to the stairs, up to privacy, fingers tapping impatiently on the back of my hand.

"Hang on," I say, and he almost groans. "Nudge!"

She _does_ groan. "Not now. Go upstairs and we'll all pretend we don't know what's happening," she says, flopping down on the couch.

"_Nudge_." I spin around, dropping Fang's hand and crossing my arms. "What's everyone up to tonight?"

"I'm here tonight," Angel says, not looking up from her phone. Gazzy grabs the remote and chimes in the same response.

"I have a date," Nudge says with frustration. She throws an accusatory finger at Fang. "He's gonna pick me up and we're going on a date and you don't get to fuck it up."

"Language," I mutter, although I'm not sure how much I'm winning that particular Mom battle.

"Chill, Nudge," Fang says monotonously. "Can't wait to meet him."

"No _meeting _him! Absolutely not! You can watch from the window while I get in his car," she says with finality.

"Why do you wanna take all our fun away?" Iggy calls from across the large living space, sitting at the breakfast bar with a take out menu.

"Literally all of it," Fang grumbles, reaching for me again with a very dark fire in his eyes.

"Dude, _chill_," Gazzy calls out.

"Gazzy's right," I say. "And so is Nudge. Let her live already."

"Yes! Thank you, Max," Nudge says, jumping up. "Let me live."

"Jeez," Fang mutters, finally getting a grip on me, stepping up the first few steps of the staircase. "Is everyone done needing parents for, like, an hour?"

Iggy scoffs. "More like four or five minutes. Sorry Max. Anyways-what does everyone want for dinner?"

The insult to Fang's pride also served as a great moment for us to get away completely, closing ourselves into Fang's room. Mine, down the hall, is smaller and looks out over the garage. Fang's large window gives a gorgeous view of the forest in the back, and is easier to climb in and out of when flying.

Not that we intend to go flying right now.

Fang's absolutely out of control, handsy as hell, pulling me over to his bed.

"You are wild," I say softly, pulling off his windbreaker. "I want a shower first."

"Fine, let's take a shower."

I roll my eyes.

He tugs my waist and I crawl onto the bed, sitting on his lap. He plays with the hem of my shirt.

"Look at me and tell me you don't want me," he says tauntingly. He rolls me over and brushes the hair out of my face.

"Well I seem to contain an ounce of control in my system that you are lacking," I say, running my fingers up his back underneath the soft cotton t-shirt he's wearing.

"How am I possibly supposed to contain myself around you?" he says softly.

"What has gotten into you?"

"I don't know," he says. "But I need you."

I roll my eyes. I'll play. He knows I'll always play along eventually.

"Need, huh?"

Fang's fingers tiptoe up from the waistband of my jeans to my navel. They hover there, poking and sliding teasingly.

"Need," he says. "Like, made-for-you-in-a-lab, need."

I laugh, pushing his fingers away and reaching up to pull off his shirt. Early on in the limelight, someone ran a popular story that claimed proof that Fang and I were genetically adjusted to perfectly complement each other. It doesn't seem to hold too much weight, since he drives me up the fucking wall, but the Flock loved throwing that in our faces. After a while, it came to be an inside joke for just us.

Although sometimes, I feel like I believe it. Maybe it's only in moments are real and pure as this.

I look up at him. He's pulling that shirt off his head, and he tosses it on the floor without even looking before leaning down over me. I reach out and trace my fingers down his jaw.

"Well, why didn't you just say that?"

Nothing feels more natural than being with him, truly. I remember when we first started taking steps towards this level of intimacy. What a process that was. After years of torture, it was hard for me to share that deeply with anyone, _even _Fang.

Mostly because I knew he wanted it. He was ready long before I was, and he was patient. Just like every other step of our relationship. But this milestone, at least for me, was a _bigger _deal. Personally. To give him that, to give myself _this_.

And I _love _this. I really do.

We are quiet to the best of our abilities. But we are also on fire, and in our own bubble, so to be honest I have no idea usually how well we ever contain the fire. When the last flames are finally out, he curls up behind me, fingers entwined with mine and our joined hands are tucked under my chin. I wiggle my behind against him as he scoots closer, his warmth enveloping me.

"Shower now?" he prompts, finger reaching up to poke the tip of my nose.

"No, now I am gelatin and I don't want to move, ever."

There's a dull buzz from the nightstand. Fang buries his face in my hair.

"If this is one of the kids I refuse to ever sleep with you under this roof again," I say, levering up to grab the phone. "We were quiet."

"_I_ was quiet."

I scowl at him. It's his phone that buzzed. I click the button. "Yikes, unknown number. Is this your other girlfriend?"

Fang rolls his eyes. "Yeah, do you mind?"

I laugh and toss him his phone. He grabs it and I curl into his side, sighing.

"It's Maggie, from Here and Now," he says. "From earlier."

I give him a look. "So, Maggie now has your phone number?"

Fang levels me a harder look. "Sorry, is there a waiver she should've signed, or?"

I smile a little sheepishly. "I'm just wondering what convinced you to give a reporter your direct phone number?"

We have a landline specifically for these types of things, for safety and for ease of not getting our cells blown up by reporters all day. I watch him open the text, which contains a link. He reads the message attached and quickly types back a polite response without providing me with any other explanation. I huff and roll out of bed, reaching for my shirt.

"She sent me an article from a different paper," he says, clicking on the link in the message. "Said we would want to see it. And if we wanted to get involved, we need to call her."

"I can save you the trouble and say we don't want to get involved," I say, grabbing my jeans. "I'm gonna take a shower."

"Max."

His voice has changed, and there's no longer a hint of playfulness. I spin around and he holds up his phone. He has the article pulled up, and the headline—along with the undeniable picture—make me swallow a sudden lump in my throat.

Suspected Leader of ITEX Gene-Splicing Research and Experiments Taken Into Custody

With a picture of Jeb Batchelder. Right there. On the page. For real.

His mug shot.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hi everyone, thanks for the love. I wish I could repost my old stuff too, but I can't. It's gone gone. This is what we all get now, haha. Also, I haven't written or read MR in a **_**long **_**time so a lot of canon is fuzzy to me. Bear with me, feel free to call me out on discrepancies. I also have multiple typos that I apologize for. I must admit I wrote this on a whim and had a total of 3 chapters written when I got too excited and had to post. It's being written very, **_**very **_**on the fly. So there will be updates sporadically. I don't write a lot - in fact, I've been binge writing mostly on the weekends. So, sorry for that.**

**Oh my gosh I'm talking so much. Ugh. **

**Much more love than usual, **

**M **

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP for this chaotic universe you gifted us. **

M

"I want to see him," I say into the phone, trying to keep my voice low. "Now."

"He's in custody." Val sounds confused. She pauses. "Is this not a good thing?"

_It's a great thing. It's what we've been fighting for this whole time. It's what I've dreamed about, what I've stayed up late at night trying to achieve. But—_

"It is a good thing," I say slowly, trying to focus and not just hang up, throw open Fang's window, and dart into the distance. The flight instinct is kicking in, _ridiculously _strong after being dormant for some time. Fang's now fully dressed, sitting on his bed behind me, watching me pace around on the phone with my mother.

The more we had tried to fit ourselves into a normal life, the more we realized that normal lives weren't meant to fit us. Valencia was one of the most inspiring women in my life, but when it mattered? She wasn't my mom. A mentor, maybe—especially now, while I try to navigate what our lives have become. Because it's not normal, it's just the closest we've ever gotten. I don't know anything about living in the real world, and Val has never offered anything but help.

"I just want to know what they have on him," I say. "I want to know the evidence; I want to know the charges."

Val starts yammering about how the authorities are the right people to deal with this and they know what they're doing.

This is where Val and I disagree. As much as I understand that she doesn't think the takedown of the School should include six underage mutants, I know that the authorities don't understand what they're up against. They let the School get this big, right under their nose, all over the country. And now we are supposed to sit back in our semi-hidden home and wait for _them _to end it?

It hits me that she's right, though, that we can't do this ourselves.

"We need a lawyer," I say suddenly. "Maybe a team. We need to work with the feds. Because otherwise...this isn't going to stick." I look back down at Fang's phone, where I still see the article's large headline, followed by an emotionless picture of our stand-in father. "If they do this without our input, they're going to fuck it up."

"Probably," Val says. She laughs a little. "Pretty sure Fang said that from the start, but we won't remind him."

I glance at him, sitting right behind me, looking at me with a cocky expression and one eyebrow raised. He can hear every word she's saying. I grin.

Fang lost that fight years ago, when we were turning over Itex files we had stolen from one location in L.A. He insisted we keep copies of everything, which we did for some things we still wanted to investigate ourselves. But the moment we stepped into the spotlight with the shows and the activism, the School went menacingly quiet. All of our clues were leading to dead-ends, and we were done trying to be detectives. So, we handed over the info and implored the government for help. Val convinced me to convince Fang that we deserved to be teenagers for a while. It was the right move.

But if Jeb was in custody, I wanted a seat at the table now. _Before _they decide what to do with him.

"Yeah, we won't tell him." I pick at my t-shirt, lips quirking at Fang. There's a string hanging off the hem. I say the next thing quietly, because it sounds horrible. "I want to help put him away forever."

"Oh, I think you will be helping," Val says softly. "If they had enough to take him in, they're going to trial. They're gonna need you."

I feel a chill go down my back.

"We're going to testify, aren't we?"

Val sighs. "It would help. They're gonna want witnesses, to really put him away. You specifically."

The landline in the office starts ringing. My eyes roll over to Fang, who sighs and gets up, heading toward his still-looked door. The phone stops, mid-second ring. He opens the door and moves towards the stairs, intending to grab the phone from whichever kid was close enough to pick it up fastest.

"Hate that sound," I grumble, mostly to myself. "I gotta go, someone just called. Can't imagine who is it."

"Be careful," Val says, with genuine worry. "The closer you get, the harder they will come for you. Jeb probably had plans for this. I wish we—"

She cuts herself off, but I know what she wants to say. _I wish we'd gotten to him first. _

"Me too." I tell her this quietly, but with frustration. A lot of times, we had felt really close to finally tracking him down. As soon as the shows started, and Fang started writing for the organization, bringing _our _issues to the forefront, Jeb went dark right along with the School and any active threats. Even Val tried to reach out, thinking she would feel like more of an ally than any of us at that point—still nothing.

We have records saved in the office, and tons of digital ones on multiple laptops Nudge lifted, hoping to be able to crack the security with her skills. Over the years, with all the dead ends, we finally decided it wasn't worth it to hang onto that part of our routine. Hunting the bad guys was a big deal, but we were _kids_. This fight wasn't a single showdown, it was the long game. We needed to get stronger and smarter and get some allies.

It was better for us to get away from it for a while. The hunt was constant, forever ongoing. We let the people with the money take it over for a while and tried to right our lives a little. I don't regret that; I know Val doesn't either—she convinced me in the first place that it wasn't impossible.

"It'll be alright. Are you in town at all soon?"

"I stop in Detroit and Kansas City, first," she says apologetically. "For meetings. This story caught CSM's attention, too. I need to meet with a few offices. You know they found him in Colorado?"

My fingers curl. "Really?"

Fang pops his head in the door and shakes the phone at me. I frown, rubbing my forehead. "Hey, so I gotta—"

"I'll send you everything I have," Val interrupts. "I know you have to go. I'll see you soon. Be careful." She refrains from declaring any time frame, because we always try not to speak too much on the phone about location or travel. We try not to make our address public information. And to be honest—who knows who's listening?

I drop my phone on the windowsill and take the other phone from Fang's outstretched hand.

"Hello."

"Uh-yes hello, Ms. Ride?"

"Are you kidding me?" I mutter. Fang grins. "Who is this?"

"Ms. Ride, this is Detective Alana Givens, I need to talk to you about a developing case we have here. How soon can you get to D.C.?"

I chew on my lip, looking at Fang. We lock eyes and I think he's thinking exactly what I'm thinking. _Fuck._

I sigh, leaning back on the doorjamb. "I mean, if you give us a few days—"

"Hours," she says, sounding concerned. "You're going to want to see what we found. We...need your help with this."

I'm floored. Somehow, they hit the jackpot while we were kicked back, living life. I'm almost furious they got farther than us. Almost. It's still a win. I look at Fang again, who's still emanating major _Fuck_ vibes. Not that kind. You know what I meant.

I still haven't answered her. She prompts softly, "Ms. Ride, do I need to send a plane?"

If she _Ms. Rides_ me again I'm gonna lose it.

I blink, and snort at her suggestion. "I think we got it covered on our own." I look at Fang one last time, and sigh, closing my eyes. "Address to meet?"

It's her turn to sigh. "To be honest, it's probably best to go back to the scene."

Colorado.

"Ms. Ride—" I roll my eyes at Fang again, wishing this woman could see my face. "Do you remember a house in Colorado? Jeb Batchelder—or someone—may've have held you there for some time?"

Fang's eyes harden.

I'm not even processing. "Excuse me?" It was so absurd to me that they knew about that—it always seemed like the most hidden home in the world. No one had ever tracked it down and we had never really looked into what happened to it after we left.

"A house, you may not remember, that much trauma at a young age can—"

"I know the place," I croak out. I shake my head lightly at Fang, like _What the hell is happening right now?_ "We'll be there by tomorrow."

She sighs, seeming pleased and relieved this is over. Girl, me too. "See you then."

I hang up. I look out into the hall, down towards the stairs. I can see Nudge standing, paying close attention to the conversation. The house is dead quiet. Fang pushes off the doorjamb across from me into his room, toward his closet, saying over his shoulder, "Pack and move, out in twenty."

I frown and push myself off, too, walking toward the top landing of the stairs. I look down at the Flock and smile apologetically. "He's right. We gotta get going," I say, and watch Nudge's face in particular fall tragically. "I'm sorry. They have Jeb in custody—found him in Colorado. And we need to go because they found the house. _Our_ house. We gotta go. Now. I'm sorry, Nudge."

Nudge cracks, uncharacteristically, and huffs. She angrily pushes her way past Iggy up the stairs. "It's fine, this is how it always fucking happens. We can't ever just be done and move on. What's the point of even trying!"

Remember when I said dropping the hunt and trying to move on was the best move for everyone?

Mom points –0.

Iggy breaks the angry silence with a shrug and a laugh. "Food is almost here, we still get to eat, right?"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey, I'm gonna need to hear from more of you, because though I refuse to be review greedy, I'm TERRIFIED of my writing skills nowadays and barely functioning with heavy anxiety SO.**

**Let's talk. Tell me what you think. Tell me what you like. Reviews are going to keep this story exciting for **_**me**_**.**

**I know the story is light right now, but keep in mind that it will get dark. If you read Reunion, think that. If I'm as good as I hope to be, it'll creep up on you. But I'm not _that_ good so...stick with me. Hah!**

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP, for this chaotic universe you gifted us. **

M

About half an hour later, we're in the air. It's a dark and cold autumn evening, and the wind is crisp but light. I zip my windbreaker all the way up and reach to tie my hair up with the band around my wrist.

They found the house. I'd really never even considered going back there. I never imagined there was any _evidence _there. In our minds, Jeb had broken us free from the School and taken us to safety. No studies, no tests, no data to collect. Maybe journals of Jeb's, if _anything_. But I could hardly see that being evidence.

Unless Jeb is eviler than I can even understand.

Now I have to wonder—why didn't we go back? Once the School got quiet? Once _Jeb _got quiet? We never imagined anyone would ever go back there. _What _would they even go back for? Unless he went back and started using it as a safe haven.

And if _that's _the case, why didn't we think of it?

The flight is too long for one night, but we got in the sky early. After hours of uneventful travel, I shout to the group, "If we stop here, we'll be close enough to fly the rest of the way in the morning. Just two or so hours," I offer, checking the screen of my watch for exact mileage covered. "You guys good for a while?"

A chorus of _Yeah_. Nudge doesn't respond. She's actually got her headphones in. She's flying _slightly _farther out, throwing off the formation a little and working harder on her own. I can't tell if she's specifically mad at me, or just the situation. I'm not gonna push it.

We fly through the evening, the sun going down steadily as we head towards our once-home. I am nervous to see the house after so long. Nervous and excited, for memories to come back. Hopefully _good _ones...distant memories of the E house were always fond. Right?

I think hard for a memory free of any hint of ulterior motive. You may not be surprised, but I was—it's _hard_.

Painful, exhausting memories of sparing with each other, Jeb watching closely. Jeb commenting on every move, correcting techniques. _We've got to be prepared if they come for us. _

Or happier times, like the first time Jeb introduced us to the idea of Christmas. An incredibly magically thing to us, the malnourished children freshly-freed from animal cages. Christmas had come at a good time for Jeb. We escaped the School merely weeks before Christmas. Celebrating the holiday meant gifting us with personal belongings—basically, just stuff—but it was _our _stuff. We immediately began to trust it was the real deal. We were home, we were safe. Jeb loved us. Jeb saved us.

He completely _played_ us, didn't he?

I'm stumbling upon this existential crisis of mine when we designate a landing spot, a mile or so from a small but well-lit motel across from a strip mall. We tuck ourselves into out windbreakers, make sure we don't look too obvious, and walk out onto the street, towards the nearly deserted stretch of road. All the stores are closed. We cross the street without waiting for the light to change because this tiny town is dead.

I check my watch. It's 11:45. "We're about two hours from the house," I say. "We'll stay at the motel tonight. Is everyone still good from dinner?"

"You mean the ten minutes we had to scarf and eat before we had to _U and A_, Max? Yeah, absolutely stuffed."

I make a face at Nudge's attitude.

"If you're hungry, I will get you food." She doesn't budge with her attitude, so I scoff. "Go inside. Three rooms, two beds each. Four shining, _thankful_ attitudes." I toss her my wallet and she heads towards the door with Angel and Gazzy in tow.

"Guys, this is fucked up," I say lowly, grabbing Iggy's arm as he turns to follow them inside.

"That's a little dramatic, don't you think?" Iggy rolls his eyes lightheartedly and grins. "She will be over it in time to be annoying about breakfast. Just don't fuck up breakfast."

"Not Nudge," I say flippantly. "Jeb. The house. Think about it."

Fang, standing to my left with his bicep brushing my shoulder, nudges me gently as he says, "He never stopped training and testing us."

"Exactly!" I hiss. I squeeze Iggy's arm harder, and he swats my hand away. "He always said it was in case they came._ For us_."

Enlightenment dawns on Iggy's face. "He was never on our side. Just pretending."

"_Always_," I repeat gravely, my voice unsteady. "Which means..."

Even the parts that were exclusively good about Jeb couldn't be remember that way. It wasn't just that he was a twisted man who had done maybe some good things to right his wrongs-Jeb used us as pawns. First as experiments, then training. He had a whole _plan_.

"Which means who knows what they found at the house," Fang finishes for me. "We need to be prepared." He nods towards the motel. I think he's expecting an argument from me, but he gets none.

"We're all walking into it tomorrow, whether we like it or not. We _all_ need to be prepared." My shoulders sag as I say it, turning toward the motel. "It's instinct to try to protect everyone. But...we need to just stay strong through it. Together."

"Very mature, Max," Iggy compliments, falling into step with me. Fang walks just a few steps behind. "Let's see how long that lasts."

It lasts just long enough until I looking directly at the others, trying to say, _Forget all the good memories you have of Jeb, because he never cared about any of us. It was all fake. _

I shove down all of my Mom instincts and say firmly, "Guys, going into tomorrow—you need to understand that Jeb is not a good guy." I pause. No one is in crisis mode yet. They all seem pretty on board with this notion. "Not even partially. I know it's been confusing, and we've all had our doubts about his motives."

Gazzy and Angel both start to look frustrated about now. I feel like we all are. At some point in each of our lives, we trusted Jeb whole-heartedly. And personally, on varying levels after Angel's abduction.

But to equate every fatherly moment we had with Jeb over the years to the fact that he is a sociopathic, ethically lacking genetic scientist? Someone should pay me for walking five other mutants and myself through this kind of therapy.

"It's starting to look like Jeb was in charge of the whole thing," I say. "Which means whatever good we remember about him...we can't trust those moments. We don't see the whole picture." I pause again, my throat tight. "We should have never trusted him."

They trusted him because _I _trusted him. I was always drawn to Jeb, and the special treatment he welcomed me to in the midst of sheer torture was the perfect bait for him. My child heart was full of confident love for Jeb, like the father I fantasized he was. I spent my formative years convincing Fang to trust Jeb, too.

Eventually, we lived together in those cages long enough to trust each other. And once they trusted me, they trusted who I trusted.

Angel taps my ankle with her toes. "Stop tracing every problem back to yourself somehow. Jeb's a psycho on his own dime. I wish we hadn't been his guinea pigs."

"I wish he never had the chance to have any," Gazzy says. "I mean, who regulates this stuff?"

I nod. "Exactly. What he did is definitely illegal. Big time. Which leads me to another thing."

I look at Fang, a look that conveys I don't know how to approach this one.

"They're going to want statements," Fang says softly. "We are all going to be asked to testify, probably. We're going to have to dig up old stuff."

Angel frowns. "Why? Like they're going to do anything."

"Yeah, this isn't just going public as a mutant," Nudge says with concern on her face. Thankfully, the rotten attitude has left the building. "This is putting dark, private scars in public record. Stuff we haven't even dealt with yet."

I sit next to her, taking her fidgeting hand in mine. She sighs. "It's not like I feel like any of us are on the verge of a breakdown, but all we do is push stuff down, pretend we don't feel things."

I look down at her hand twisted tight in mine. She's right. We all have stuff we need to seriously work through, and we've trained ourselves our whole lives to push it down.

_Pain is just a message. _

Soon enough, anything in the way of surviving was a message. One that could wait. One that didn't matter. Bring that speeding train down to a halt and all you have is a bunch of aging mutants with issues.

"Alright, so we need to hit the hay. But before we do, can we just make an agreement right now that this is where we start to end this thing." I sigh heavily with the lat word. "I'm ready to be done. Aren't you?"

Tired smiles and one _Hell yeah_ from Gazzy, and we split ways for bedtime. I walk through the joined rooms, checking doors and locking the latch over each front door. I keep the connecting room doors open and retreat into my shared room with Fang.

While everyone else is turning off lights and growing quiet, Fang boots up his laptop and opens a can of soda from his backpack.

I peer out the window at the dead street. "I can't believe I jumped to fly out here without recon. Who knows what kind of threats are here. We're close to the house, I recognize this side of town. I used to go to a pharmacy near here. For Gazzy's flatulence problem."

I spin to look at him. He's holding the soda halfway to his mouth, watching me.

"It's just...the memories are already ambushing me."

He sets his drink down. "Good ones?"

I shrug, shaking my head. "I remember being at the grocery store and thinking I'd lost one of Jeb's credit cards. Only one I had with me. I started bawling. In the store. The woman suddenly realized I looked underage and asked who drove me to the store that day."

Fang frowns. He rolls the desk chair over to me. I reach down and take his hands, flitting my fingers through his. "Or when I brought Angel to town with me after she begged and begged, only for her to ask about a man on the sidewalk. He was painting a restaurant sign but had stopped to look at us. I got paranoid, absolutely freaked."

"You never even made it to the store," he says quietly. "You made it back to the house, both in tears. I went."

I chew my lip and nod. "It's just a past I expected to stay buried. Good or bad—it's hard to not question it all now."

Fang shakes his head. "We question _Jeb_. Only. Not the moments together. As a Flock."

I know he's right, but this second voice in my brain is screaming _So what! _

It was all orchestrated, all studied.

None of it was real.

For a small second, everything good is stripped away from our childhoods. All the good I tried so hard to generate and savor. We had hard lives, but we tried to make the best out of them. The only goal every day was to stay alive and be together. If you take away the good moments, what is there worth saving?

"We've been through insurmountable trauma," Fang murmurs. "I'm surprised we haven't been admitted. Like a..._raised with wolves_ situation."

"Because we would only do worse in more isolation," I say, ignited. "Are you serious?"

"Not admitted for _study_, Max. For mental health issues. Luckily Jeb got us out right in the midst of those formative years, made sure we were educated." He looks at me pointedly.

Luckily. As lucky as he was that Christmas is in December.

"To think we never realized it was all fake."

Fang shrugs. This realization doesn't shake him to his core like it does for me. It doesn't make him question everything; his life, his struggles, his _purpose_. It only reaffirms what he has probably suspected for years. "We didn't want to believe it was fake. We wanted to believe it was over and we were saved."

I nod. "I know, I know."

"Okay, then stop thinking so hard. We _all _need to be prepared," he reminds me gently. "But we can't worry about things that aren't real. Wait till we see what we're dealing with."

And, you know what? I want him to be right this time, _so _badly.

But I can't trust it. It feels monumental to me, and so I am preparing.

In my own way.

I'm going to worry about whatever the _hell_ I want to worry about—and while I'm at it, I'm going to brace myself for impact.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So I didn't want these ANs to get tedious to read. I can't respond to everyone the way I want. **

**But after maybe the worst weekend of my life, I would love to chat with some of you. If you want a DM reply just tell me to reply in the review. Some of you I haven't heard from in years, so it would be lovely to catch up.**

**Sorry for the delay. I wanted to write this weekend and actually ended up experiencing the loss of one of my favorite people. It's been very surreal and blurry since then. Patience is appreciated, as are your opinions on this newest chapter. I feel like I'm dragging stuff out. I wish this story was Reunion-style, in the verse-like chapters I was writing before. But it came out originally this way and who am I to change it. It's alive!**

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP, for this chaotic universe you gifted us.**

**SORRY FOR TYPOS. DID NOT PROOF READ. I WILL BE DOING EDITS THROUGHOUT SOON.**

M

"God," Nudge says, walking fast to fall into step with me, crossing her arms against the chill. We stand above the house, looking down from a distance. "I haven't thought of this place in so long."

"I always thought it was bigger," Angel says, curls blowing in her face sporadically due to the wind.

I remembered it exactly. I remember the feeling of the floors under my bare feet and the smell of the most comfortable couch in the universe—positioned before that giant window in the living room.

I remember the house exactly how we left it. We knew we were never going to come back. The moment Erasers found us anywhere, that was a no-visit list. We broke the rule a few times, but never with the house.

It felt wrong to go back, maybe. To pretend.

Now it feels wrong to see the house so much differently. It's hard not to, though. No one has said anything, and maybe they aren't surprised to see it—but I can barely see past the multiple black sedans and police vehicles parked along the sloped front yard. It's barely even dawn but the lights are all on. To be honest, we got here early hoping no one would be here. But this place is crawling, even this early. People file in and out of the house, some carrying boxes, some carrying cameras.

It hits me. Even if we'd been earlier, there's no way we're supposed to go in there without them. This is not our home, or our property—it's only a crime scene.

"Alright," I say, pushing my wings open, stretching them a bit. "Let's go down there. If it gets to be too much, we can take a break. But let's try to stick together."

On the ground, the house looks more haunted than it should. Abandoned for some time, the spare foliage along the front of the house is overgrown. The house itself has clearly been vacant for a long time—there's even a partially broken window. I wonder if Erasers did that, long ago—or more recently.

We don't approach without being noticed. By the time we are circling to land in the yard, every person has frozen to watch us. A woman in a suit steps forward from the porch, looking at me expectantly.

"Alana?" I presume, stepping forward and tucking my wings in. I still feel the eyes on me. Different than the eyes of an awed crowd. These eyes are calculating, presumptuous—and suspicious. My skin is crawling and I want to get inside as soon as possible.

She smiles tightly. "Max. Thank you all for coming at such short notice. I wanted to brief you quickly, before we go in."

That makes me pause. I look over to Fang, who looks back at me, puzzled.

"We know you've got Jeb Batchelder in custody," I say. "Is there more?"

She frowns slightly. "I don't want to alarm you, but I have a feeling what we show you today is going to be disturbing. Jeb Batchelder has been taken into custody after evidence was sent to my office." She looks at each of us separately, and she looks like this conversation is making her very uncomfortable. "I can't begin to say I understand what you've been through. But documents from Jeb Batchelder's personal files came to me in an email. Including information that led us to believe he was here. This is where we found him."

Fang's hand slips into mine. I don't look back at him but I squeeze, nodding along with Alana's explanation. I have questions on top of questions, but I bite them back.

She pauses for a long moment, considering her approach. "How many rooms are in this house, do you know?"

"Seven," Iggy says immediately. "Bedrooms."

"Jeb used one as an office, but the rest were bedrooms," Nudge adds.

She nods. "Okay. That's what we thought. But this house is not what you think it is."

None of us say a word.

Fang's fingers are squeezing.

I feel as if I'm teetering over an edge. For a moment, I regret this part. The digging deep part. It's the right thing for justice, but we've gotten comfortable away from all the pain. I almost don't want to know what's going on.

"This structure behind you is eight levels."

This is when my mind goes into panic mode. Immediately the scene before me, once eerie and reminiscent of my life before, is a strange, façade like place. I do not know this place.

I clearly do not even know the half of it.

She begins walking toward it, gesturing, talking about how these are the top two levels of an underground structure that goes six more stories into the ground. At least 40 rooms. Soundproof, secure locking system. Structurally secured and locked level by level. Only half of the rooms they've been able to access.

None of us have moved. She has taken ten or fifteen steps before she realizes.

"Max?"

I blink. Pull my fingers from Fang's and step forward, clamping my hands together. I step toward her and say quietly, "Come on, guys."

"There was no one else here, nor does it look like anyone else had access," Alana says gently. "The property is technically owned by the company, but it seems only Jeb spent time here. Jeb, and you."

"This was only ever a house to us," Nudge blurts. Her voice is high and quivering, which confirms what I had suspected: we are all shook. This news is like being hit by a truck. "We didn't have any idea."

Alana knows this already, though. She nods and frowns a little. "Neither did we. Only after we had Batchelder in custody and began to do a sweep did we find the entrance to the other levels. It seems as if the house was built atop an underground lab."

"Fuck," Iggy expresses. I look over and watch him run his long, deft fingers through windblown hair. "This is a joke."

Alana stops fully, and turns to him. She nods. "I know this is hard to believe. It's going to only get harder." She levels me a look. "Things are recorded in here that you may not know. The man archived like I've never seen before."

I'm torn. Part of me is screaming S_how me!_ because I need to know. The other part, the part that remembers what this place was to us—well, that part is hiding behind the demanding part. So demanding wins.

I look over at my Flock. There is a lot of uncertainty, fear, and all-around discomfort on their faces—but they harden their looks as I scan them, facing me with brave looks that say _We can do this._

But some part of me, a part that seems to have woken up only in the most recent years, makes me hesitate _still_. We're all willing to step into this mess, and take whatever it has to throw at us. But why do I still want us all to just duck and cover?

_Because you know it's going to try to break you._

Things try to break us all the time. We're together and we've got this. We've handled everything else. And could it really be _that _bad?

I swallow, staring past Alana now at the house. The sun is coming up over the mountains, a sight I remember welcoming after many sleepless nights. We would pile up right there in the living room, toss and turn sleeplessly in a pack. And in the morning, Fang and I would be awake already to watch the sun rise. We always sat in total silence and just witnessed it. Something so peaceful, finally rescued from hell. In our safe haven.

Safe haven no more.

"Okay," I say, nodding finally. "Let's see it."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Thank you so much for the love, every review makes me itch to write more for you guys! (Who am I kidding? Idk where this story is going so it's exciting for me, too.) Thank you to zroc and staphylococci for the review sprees. I love to see you guys take the time to review each chapter separately! **

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP, for this chaotic universe you gifted us. **

M

To say I experience a new hell inside the house would be an understatement.

It's like receiving devastating news. It's a drastic jolt of reality that takes a moment to fully sink in. So, we take it slow, and move from one room to another only after we've all seen everything we wanted to see. It takes a while.

I think that's the only reason we cover so much in one day, though. Going back through the part of this building we knew. The living spaces. Our rooms, if we wanted to. Angel declines, which was a surprise. I make a mental note to check in with all the kids separately. God knows I would need my own decompression time with Fang.

When we get to Jeb's office, the air seems to be harder to draw into my lungs. I try to take subtle, deep breathes, reaching for stability. Fang's fingers flit against my elbow and then drag up my forearm, lacing finally with mine. I pull another breath.

I don't think any of us are surprised to see the discreet door in the wall, partially blocked by a surreal painting hanging over an ottoman, directly across from Jeb's sturdy teak wood desk.

"We never really came in here," Nudge says softly, peering around nervously. I step into the room behind her, cautious. Nervous.

She's right.

We never really came in here.

Except once. Right after Jeb left. I pulled Iggy and Fang out of bed one night and dragged them down here. It had been three days since we'd seen Jeb and he had _never _left us that long—especially without any word. The food had been stocked the day we woke up without him, but since then we'd eaten multiple times. We were running out of _food_.

I had convinced Fang to come into this forbidden room tucked behind the kitchen for the first time, because I was terrified of what was in there. I had worked it up in my mind to be this horrible thing, this awful mystery about our disappeared father. I was absolutely inconsolably those first few days, after being thrown into the leader role—this time not only in sparing practice. I was in charge. All the time.

And I was responsible for feeding the others.

Once we'd been inside, though, my fears melted. I had noticed the room was as if he'd just been there; his bedroom had been the same way. Clothes strewn over the armchair in the corner, a coffee mug on the dresser. Like he would walk back in any second. The office had been in a state of mid-chaos that day. Whole drawers pulled out; cabinets wide open. All empty. The only thing we found in the office besides his knickknacks and spare office supplies was a pile of papers on the desk, with a note on top of it. My name was scrawled in Jeb's hurried, pointed handwriting.

I remember seeing that, and _realizing _he was never coming back, and wanting to scream. What a waste that trust had been, what a painful waste of energy. Fang had held my arm that day, nearly holding me up as I reached for the letter. I had been crumbling already, on the verge of tears, wondering how Jeb could _possibly _be gone—and then I read the first line of the letter.

_I know you can do this. _

Fury had lit up in the pit of my stomach. Any test I failed, any time Jeb watched me try to give up, that's what he'd say. _I know you can do this, Max! When are you gonna realize that? _I had read that one sentence and hardened immediately, ripping the note in half with an awful grunt.

So then, for a short time after, I had thought it was a test. I'd figured out Jeb's bank account information with Fang's help. We'd sorted through the documents Jeb had left out for us, little notes about how to do certain things. Password to his laptop, or what we assumed was his laptop. But the thing had been wiped clean, with only a file full of notes and instructions from Jeb about random household upkeepings and emergency solutions.

I remember that night so clearly now, the room barren except for what Jeb had _wanted _us to find. It had all felt so deliberate. For a while it felt like he was saying, _Sit tight and wait for further instructions. _So I kind of did. For a while. And then the holidays came, and birthdays came, and Jeb _never _came.

I grew out of waiting for him. But I had always wondered if Jeb deliberately never came back, or if he couldn't. I wondered if it wasn't safe for him to come back, or if he'd been hurt or captured or killed. I kept hope for this man for so much of my life. It's crazy to think I only _underestimated _him that much.

"If you want to take a look around before we go down, that's fine," Alana responds, looking at Nudge patiently. If anything, I can appreciate the fact that our lead detective is sensitive.

I notice a computer on the desk. I look at it pointedly, and Alana says, "It'll be taken for evidence. There are files on it."

I blink. "I want to see it. All of it."

Alana doesn't even hesitate. "All of you have access to everything. Some things will not leave my office, however. We'll work something out." She pauses, glancing at each of us. "We can discuss working together later. I think we should try to get this over with. It's not going to be easy. Let me show you the stairwell."

Well, the stairwell is massive. I imagined something dark and small, like a second thought was all it took to convince whoever created this place to add an underground laboratory.

But it's not. It's a spacious, double wide stairwell that is well lit and hospital-level sterile.

Because Jeb built this place.

And the lab was _not _an afterthought.

Even Iggy underestimated the space, and goes _Wow _under his breath, stepping through the doorway beside me. I reach back and graze my fingers with his.

"This is nuts."

I agree. That's kind of the only way to describe it right now.

"So, we have gained access to all six floors, but some rooms have special locks on them. We haven't figured it out yet. It's weird, because all the doors have security codes that we've been able to crack. But some of them are key locks."

I make a face at Fang, who returns it with a tightly guarded glance. I bump him with my hip, since he's been hovering just at my side since we started the tour, right behind me. Like he's waiting, like he'll need to hold my arm again. Keep me up. He reaches a hand out to me and when I take it, he squeezes tight.

I wonder now for the first time if I'm gonna need to keep _him _up.

We descend the staircase, our steps echoing obnoxiously. The doorway is already wide open. People are working down here, collecting and taking things away in big boxes. Someone passes through the doorway and up the stairs past us.

"We still don't understand why he needed so much room," Alana says, looking at me.

I'm in shock, and horrible with this shit, so I say, "Right? There's only six of us. I guess he wanted one floor for each to guarantee no contact."

She blinks at me, her eyes growing slightly larger. I guess joking about being locked up isn't the most helpful response right now.

"This first room is a control room of sorts," she says after a long pause. Iggy retorts from the back of the group, "Fantastic!"

Alana flinches a little. _She's going to have to get used to our horrifying humor. _

"Cameras throughout," she glances up at me, "in the living spaces as well."

None of us gasp. We'd figured as much as soon as she'd said _underground laboratory_. It's uncomfortable to think about but not the worst we expected to experience on our tour of horrors. We peer into the control room, but so far none of us want to really step into these evil spaces.

Down the hall, another door is propped open on the left. Alana says, "Here are the archives."

Rows and rows of filing cabinets extended all the way back into the long but narrow room. Some of the cabinets were wide open, still some files and _tapes _in there. My heart starts racing. I realize that standing here, wondering what all happened in these half-hollowed out rooms is not the worst part of this.

No, it would be seeing the evidence, watching it happen again through cabinets and cabinets worth of documents and videos and recordings. We are going to really relive some shit if we are going to be any help to this case.

I look around at the others, who are collectively making the same assumption. We're fucked. And the worst part is, we know there is nothing good in the archives, but we want to see them _anyway_. Maybe to understand ourselves better, maybe because we can't live without knowing. But as I make eye contact with each Flock member, I know none of us are ready to back out yet. Some of them are glancing around the large room, looking at the cabinets with sincere interest and heavy caution.

"All of this will be gone through, recorded, and sorted. Again, you all have access to whatever we find. In fact, we will need you to corroborate," Alana says evenly. "Whenever possible."

I tighten my grip on Fang's fingers, which are still in mine and still holding me firmly.

We take longer with the archive room, but again we don't go inside. There are detectives inside, quietly working throughout the rows of files. But we need a moment just to realize what this means. How much of our lives were watched and measured and predicted and_ controlled deliberately_. I, personally, am just now realizing how much of my life I spent a prisoner, a test subject. A pawn.

I feel like the ground is shaking.

As we continue on, many rooms we pass look much the same. Empty, pristine labs. Some with large, alien-looking machines and gadgets. Some with long, metal tables and sharp instruments. Every single room seemingly harmless, if not a tad creepy—but each one triggering violent and painful memories. But old ones, ones from the School. Nothing from the first few floors of labs and storage rooms and offices triggers a memory of this secret lab.

No one else had mentioned remembering anything, but that didn't mean anything.

I look up at Fang's carefully guarded expression, calculating the tightness of his jaw and the crease between his eyebrows. I wonder what he's thinking. If he's remembering. _Now _definitely is not the time to ask, but I try to remember to bring it up when the initial earth shaking has ceased for everyone.

"The fourth floor down is all rooms with the key locks," Alana says. "Not much to see, but I want to show you anyway. It's...different."

Consider us intrigued. We take the last flight of stars downward and through another propped door. The first thing I notice is that we step onto soft plush _carpet_. There is a shoe rack by the entrance, a coat rack on the opposite side. The hall is long, and instead of the same florescent lights as the last three levels, there is a soft golden light from a long row of hanging lights. The hall is lined with tall metal doors. I notice the doors don't have windows or doorknobs—just a circular indentation where the doorknob should be. I walk cautiously down the hallway, my heart thumping wildly. I reach the first door and feel the Flock crowd in around me.

We inspect the lock in silence. The circular indent is half the size of my palm, and has random raised circles.

Gazzy is the first to speak. "Those look like the fridge magnets."

Nudge gasps quietly. "Oh my God, those do look like the fridge magnets."

I look back at the shape in the door and immediately remember what they are talking about. Six little magnets that had been on the refrigerator. They stuck onto the fridge door with the bumpy side, not the flat side. Gazzy used to sit and play with the magnets while Iggy made creations in the kitchen.

It would be just like Jeb to leave the pieces of the puzzle lying around in plain sight. Everything was supposed to mean something, add something to his twisted bigger picture. I try to swallow the lump in my throat. The anger and the fear are outshined by the absolute _betrayal _I feel.

"Are there magnets on the fridge upstairs?" Nudge says, pulling me out of my mind. She's bouncing on her feet slightly. "I can't remember if they were there or not, but they have to be! They were there that morning; they were _always _there!"

Before I can say anything, Gazzy interrupts excitedly. "They aren't on the fridge. I took them down after the Erasers took Angel. We were going to use them to rig a trap—before we had our actual good idea."

I remember their recounting of the traps they'd laid for the Erasers that day. They had even wondered if they had accidentally blown up the house, since their revenge tended to be heavy on explosives. But clearly that wasn't the case.

"Where are they?" I ask, my fingers twitching in Fang's. Fang's thumb taps the back of mine a few times and then smooths over it soothingly.

Gazzy looks at me, levelly now that he's grown to nearly my height. He nods toward the stairs.

"Upstairs in my room."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I better get two reviews, dudes. **

**Much love.**

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP, for this chaotic universe you gifted us. **

M

The moments after this realization, this new puzzle piece discovered, are chaotic and hurried. We all follow the Gasman to his bedroom to look for the magnets, but they're exactly where he last left them—on the desk under the window amidst other random pieces and parts.

"I thought there were six," he says with confusion, counting again. There are only five.

"There were," Iggy says softly, rolling one in his hand. The heaviness and textured surface had always helped him keep himself centered. He used to snag one off the fridge and play with it throughout the day.

look around Gazzy's room for a fallen magnet. When we all come up empty, we decide to move on without it for now. The curiosity of that lower level is too strong against the idea of a missing key, and I figure that if the detectives are tearing the house apart anyway, we'll eventually find it.

Back in the basement, the tension builds as we search through the small pile of keys for the first door's match. Nudge grabs one after looking at the lock and sticks it into the indent with a soft magnetic click. The door releases open an inch, and she jumps back a little.

Alana steps up next to me and grabs her walkie. "Simmons, can you get down here please? We got one of the doors unlocked on four."

A radio-distorted voice responds immediately. "On it."

Alana gives me a nod and I reach forward, fingers shaking, pushing the door open. It's dark, so I feel the inside wall for a light switch. Before I find one, the movement of my arm triggers the auto lights. I blink and stop moving to take in the room before me.

A full bathroom.

"Are you kidding me?" Gazzy mutters. Nudge whispers to Iggy that it's a bathroom.

"With a shower, sink and toilet. Pretty white counters, a lot of bathroom things," Angel says to him, my mind reeling. I take in the toothbrush on the counter, next to a half-used bottle of toothpaste. Alcohol free mouthwash, nearly empty. An electric razor, a comb.

Jeb, scattered everywhere.

I put a hand against the doorjamb, my vision feeling blurry. "Did he—?" I can't even finish the sentence. I can't believe this is real. The completely different feel of this level in comparison to the hospital-like sterilization of the first three levels, the intricate locks...

"He lived down here."

Fang's low, level voice confirming what I was already wondering sends my body into survival mode. A million questions pop into my mind, and the room starts to feel like it's spinning fast. He lived down here. Probably while we lived here. Probably the _whole time._

Alana steps close to me and meets my eyes insistently. "Would you like something to help you calm down?" She reaches for her walkie when I don't respond and asks someone to bring something. I wonder for a second why she would ask me that, and then I feel Fang's tight fingers on my bicep. I am breathing fast, in short pants, and only just now realized it. My eyes water and I reach up to grab Fang's arm or shirt and shoulder, whatever I can grasp.

"Breathe," Iggy advises, his fingers settling on my back. Fang pulls me close so he can wrap an arm around me. I can't get air into my lungs yet, so I continue to gasp like a fish.

Nudge and Gazzy and Angel have taken other keys and gotten into three new rooms, but I'm not ready to see that yet. I already know we will find another entire house that Jeb lived in, probably for years. He pretended to leave, then lived right below us, still studying and watching and researching us. We didn't have any idea that he was here the whole _entire _time.

It's all so fucked up. A guy comes downstairs with medication and other calming things and instead I slide down the wall. Iggy instructs me to lower my head between my knees, but I'm already getting into position.

I push push _push _the feelings away because there are _so _many of them and they are _so _strong. It's unfair. It's unbelievable. It absolutely makes no sense, but that's only just like the rest of our lives so far. Pushing is the only thing right now that is going to work for me, because it's the only thing I've ever used to cope. So, I block out the ones around me, trying to get through and talk to me or help, and I focus on pulling air deep into my lungs while I push all the feelings that are making me want to crawl out of my skin.

_You're stronger than this, you are not just a pawn. You make your own decisions. You aren't imprisoned anymore. Jeb does not win. _

_Jeb does not win. _

I start to let in more of what's going on around me as I repeat that in my head a few times. Fang is kneeling beside me, hand on my shoulder, brushing my hair by my chin lightly with his thumb. I can breathe without thinking about it now, so I straighten up and look at him. The kids have gone on to uncover more of the rooms, and I'm thankful that the only one left to stand gawking at me for falling apart is Alana. She smiles tightly at me, her eyes sorrowful.

"It's looking like you are right," she says softly. "There's a bedroom, kitchen, office, food storage and compost room. One last room on the right, and we don't have the key."

I don't know what to say. I can't really think about what she's telling me because otherwise I will lose my balance again. And I've only barely got it right now to begin with.

"The good news," she continues quietly, "is that this is it. You've seen it all. I think we can stop for today. There's still a lot of processing that needs to be done here before we can look into anything."

Fang looks at his watch a moment before looking right back at me. He nods. I know they're right. It feels ridiculous to take a break. It feels ridiculous to ever take a break again until this is over.

But the world is upside down, painted all new colors. I feel like I exist in a new reality, with new rules and consequences. And I can still just barely breathe.

So.

We decide to call it a day.

And as we fly back to our motel rooms, somber and silent, I try to think of any explanation that doesn't just turn our lives into some means to an end. The absolute awfulness of it all is numbing, and makes me wonder and second guess any moments we had that felt pure or safe or normal. Especially the ones with Jeb present. The more we learned about him the more my memory of him changes to vile and twisted.

It's about one in the afternoon, and I know everyone is hungry. I don't even offer to stop anywhere before reaching the motel because I don't know I can make it. I wonder if I'm truly the only one shook this hard by today's adventure underground. I feel ashamed that it stops me from checking on the others. But right this moment, all of my energy goes into holding my own shit together.

When we finally get to the motel, Iggy mentions something softly about ordering pizza. A chorus of responses chime in, just as quiet. Everyone is being tender right now, as if the world is fragile. I appreciate the effort, because I _know _my world is.

The kids very quickly find their own things to do, retreating almost immediately as Iggy and Nudge set off to find the ordering menu. Fang tugs me toward our room.

I walk through the doorway, wringing my own fingers, rolling my shoulders and trying not to think about it. He turns and closes the door with a soft click.

A shuddering sob breaks through my chest, bubbling up and coming out of my throat in a high whine. I clamp my fingers over my mouth, astounded by this break in my composure the moment we are enclosed in our room, away from the eyes that aren't allowed to see me this way.

Fang comes up to me and wraps his wiry arms around me, burying my nose in his shirt. His hand goes behind my head and his chin rests on top. Angry, hot tears push out, my mouth wide open, no sound coming out but ragged gasps. Grasping the back of his t-shirt and letting my tears roll off my cheeks onto his sweatshirt.

I cry, hard and ugly, trying to be quiet.

Because the feelings are back, and this time will not take a message.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Honestly, please tell me if I need to change the rating of this story. I'm considering doing outtakes to keep it Rated T, and that's **_**if **_**this story doesn't accidentally become Rated M anyway. This chapter happened by accident.**

**Just because I'm spoiling you doesn't mean you all go silent! Much love. **

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP, for this chaotic universe you gifted us. **

M

"_How could he just leave?"_

_Fang is lying on the roof beside me, sprawled out, staring up at the stars. There are so many of them visible here, in the middle of the mountains. The kids are sleeping inside, have been for hours. _

_But I haven't been able to really sleep for days. _

_We woke up three days ago to Jeb gone. His things mostly untouched, as if he hadn't known he was going anywhere. No note, no clues, _nothing_ out of place._

_Except Jeb. _

_The others were confused and sad, but I was distraught. While I was the one most of the kids trusted first and foremost, and went to for comfort, reassurance or advice...Jeb was that for me. The moment he stole us from the School that night he'd been my North Star. He was the only mentor I knew, the only person I had known to look to for guidance or leadership. _

_And now he was gone. How could he leave us? How could he leave _me_?_

"_Do you think someone took him?"_

_I can hear Fang rolling his eyes without looking over at him. _

"_Without us hearing it?" he counters. _

_I frown. "Well it doesn't make sense!"_

_Fang is up abruptly, on his feet. Towering over me. "What if he didn't leave?"_

_I blink up at him. That doesn't make any sense. He isn't here. If he isn't here, he had to have left. I shake my head, but Fang pushes. _

"_He didn't leave, Max," Fang says, coming closer. I step back, suddenly feeling my neck crawl. I look over Fang's shoulder, over the edge of the E House's slanted roof. The sky is suddenly pitch black, not a star in sight. It's so vast and dark. It's swallowing us. _

_Fang's hands reach out to grab me, shake me by the shoulders—_

I violently jolt awake, Fang's arms tightening around me in response. He's awake, because his hand comes up to smooth away some of the hair sticking to my face.

I lever myself up, dragging in a deep breath. I glance over his shoulder at the motel's cheap alarm clock. We'd only laid down about an hour ago to try to get some rest. We had spent many hours in our room when we first got home—first while I cried myself out, and then when we discussed every uncomfortable memory from the day.

Fang really wasn't coping with it, to be quite honest.

If you wanted my unprofessional opinion on the matter.

To be fair, though, were any of us?

It is slightly discouraging, though, that even Fang is rattled. Not to say our past doesn't haunt him or affect him, because it absolutely does. It does that for each of us, in unique, awful ways. But Fang seems to be on the precipice of complete and utter disbelief, and I don't often see him stumped. One thing's for sure, it is comforting as hell to know I'm not the only one that thinks this whole _plot _of Jeb's is completely fucking out-of-the-norm crazy.

Our lives have been crazy, but this is like leveling up in crazy.

After our decompression together, we had grabbed some of the pizza that the kids had already ravaged. I'd asked the group if they wanted to talk about anything yet, but most everyone had claimed to be tired. We'd all retired to take a nap around four o'clock.

Now, nearly five, Fang and I are curled up on one of the beds in our room. The connecting doors are open again, and I wonder if I woke anyone up or made any noise.

Fang sees me looking toward the door. "Should I close it?"

I shake my head, pulling the loose hair tie out of my hair and scooping all the fallen strands into a tighter ponytail.

"I'm alright," I say quietly. "Just a dream."

Fang cocks an eyebrow at me, levered up next to me on the pillows. I shake my head, and he sighs, lying down flat again. I slide down next to him, rolling to face away from him. He scoots in closer behind me, one arm sliding over my waist. He's so warm it's intoxicating, my skin tingling as I steal his heat, crawling back into the cocoon that is a cheap motel comforter and _him_.

He's pressed perfectly against me, and silently in my head I rethink my answer about closing the door. It's so not the time for it, but I crave him right now more than anything. Maybe as an escape from the feelings and questions. Maybe because I'm scared and worried and need to unwind. Maybe because I always fucking crave him.

I wiggle a little against him, barely, just trying to say _I want you, but I realize now is not the time _or something. His fingers drag across my stomach, curving down to trace the edge of my hip.

"Was it...that kind of dream?" Fang asks.

I snort softly, rolling my eyes. "No."

"Huh," he murmurs. "Mixed signals."

I squeeze his fingers. "I know it's fucked up, I can't help that I cope in the wrong ways."

Fang tucks his nose into the crook of my neck. "We should definitely try not to use sex as some kind of coping mechanism," he quips. "But we are allowed to make _exceptions_."

I bite my lip. I roll over onto my back, looking up at him. He is lying next to me, head propped up on one hand. His lips twitch.

"Are we awful?"

"I don't know, are we?"

Fang slides out from under the covers and pads over to the door. He's only wearing a shirt and some sweatpants, but to be absolutely frank—he looks good. His hair is messy from sleep, his wings slightly relaxed, the lowest feathers trailing on the ground behind him. Once he softly shuts the door, he comes back over. He pulls off his shirt and drops his sweats before crawling back in next to me.

He lies on his side and looks at me. "Take your shorts off."

I laugh quietly, pushing his shoulder. "Romantic."

He grins, scooting forward to kiss me, fingers sliding under the hem of my shirt. I roll over onto him, pulling my lips away from his to sit up and ditch my shirt. I'm not wearing a bra, which is pretty much the norm for us. Fang's fingers are already doing exploring, sliding up my sides and making my flesh break out in goosebumps.

I lean down toward him, capturing his mouth again in a quick, near-miss kiss before landing right below his ear and sucking gently.

"My move," he grunts quietly, arms curling tightly around me. He rolls us over and leans down to me now, hovering darkly over me with a light in his eyes. He comes very close, until his eyes are right before mine. He lowers his voice seriously.

"Are you gonna be able to stay quiet?"

I grin up at him and reach down, ditching the last of my clothes. I kick them off quickly and start pushing at Fang's last article of clothing impatiently. He sits back, pushes them off finally, and moves down to lay fully on top of me now, a little too high. I shift and wiggle relentlessly below him until he's where I want him. When he's settled there, my breath hitches. The pressure of his weight and the feeling of his entire body against mine, combined with his mouth moving down my neck is all so sensational.

My phone buzzes on the dresser. For one _split_ second I wonder what horrible thing could be happening now—is it Alana? What else has been discovered?

But then Fang pulls his lips away from my neck to look down at me, eyes gazing directly into mine. He smiles gently. He gives me a moment to re-prioritize, if necessary.

Not necessary.

I pull him back down. Next urgent crisis be damned, I'm busy.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Here's to 2020.**

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP, for this chaotic universe you gifted us. **

M

Fang does me the favor of getting up first a few long, selfish moments after we settle together. This allows me to not look _as _psychotic as I could've, immediately reaching for my phone once his feet hit the floor.

"Alana texted," I say lowly, but loud enough for my voice to carry to him in the bathroom. "She wants to talk about moving forward. Wants our help with identifying and corroborating things they find."

Fang doesn't say anything, and I'm not surprised. I feel like I should be jumping to get to D.C. and dig in, discover all the heaping piles of evidence that will finally give us what we want. And instead, I'm just as silent as him, thinking about the horrors this could open for all of us.

Fang finally steps into the doorway of the bathroom. He leans his shoulder against the doorjamb and then says, "We don't have to do it."

Immediately out of my mouth: "Yes, we do."

Fang frowns, looking down at his shoes. He holds there for a moment and then comes to sit by me. He's only in pajama pants. I'm still sitting in bed, only surrounded by the stiff motel comforter. He levels his gaze with mine.

"It feels like this is the _first_ decision where we actually have a choice," he says quietly. "The cops will continue on without us, even if we refuse to help."

"Nothing real is going to happen unless we're there to prove all of their evidence," I say. I shake my head and reach for his hand. "But I get what you mean. I'm afraid that we can't handle it."

He looks at me. "I think _we_ can handle anything."

I smile gently. I want to agree with him, I want to believe in us as a team. But this all isn't going to test us as a team. It's going to attack us each individually, in the most personal way possible.

And what we can handle together, I definitely can't handle alone.

"I'm worried," I say, because I struggle with the word _scared_. He knows that, though, and understands everything else I'm still not saying out loud. I pull in a slow breath. "I think we need to talk to the others first. I want to see how they feel."

I pull on the sweatshirt lying next to my backpack. I dig in the same pack for some pants, and turn to Fang when I'm fully dressed. I see that he is, too. I don't say anything, because I'm still stuck in my own world, orbiting around the idea of discovering my deepest, darkest baggage.

I open the connecting door to Angel and Nudge, who look up immediately at me. They're sitting on Nudge's bed. Angel has her legs crisscrossed, and next to her Nudge is curled up, with her back against the headboard and her arms around her knees.

Her head lifts when she sees Fang and I enter the room. "Max, can we talk?"

I look at Fang once and then back at her, nodding. "Yeah, we need to get the guys in here."

"No," Nudge says quickly. "Just us. Please."

I glance over at Angel, realizing the heaviness of the atmosphere I've walked into. I nod and Angel gets up, moving toward the boys' room. Fang follows her lead without a word. I step toward Nudge's bed, but she's getting up.

"Let's go somewhere else," she offers, her voice masked casually. But I know her, and I know her panic tells. And one of them is the visible twitching of her wings as she waits for me to answer her. Her eyes dart between mine, which is another. And she knows I see right through it—it's pissing her off.

"Max, don't fuck with me right now."

I scoff quietly and lead us out the door, swiping one of the keys on my way out. She closes the door behind us, looking around.

"I wish we could just take off right now," she mumbles genuinely, falling into step with me down the sidewalk towards the stretch of forest we'd landed in. Since we didn't tell anyone we were leaving, I'm hoping a walk will suffice to quiet the voice in her head urging her to _run_.

"I get it," I say softly. "I feel like running from it, too."

"No."

I look at her, and she shakes her head. Her wide, brown eyes look ten times older, suddenly, and her lips are set in a firm line.

"I will not be part of this."

She is serious. Dead serious. She _is _scared, I can clearly see that now that she's letting me, now that it's just us.

"Okay," I say immediately. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not," she says shakily. Tears are welling in her eyes, but she hardens her face again. She's tilting her head to blink back the tears. Pulling in an unsteady breath.

"Max," she says levelly, looking me directly in the eyes. "I know for a fact that Jeb took me down there."

I feel my heart start to hammer away at my ribcage. We're stopped, standing on the sidewalk not even a block from the motel. I suddenly feel so exposed and so _unsafe_. I swallow.

"What do you remember?" I ask, my mind reeling with questions. What horrible thing did she discover today, walking through that lab? Did anyone else remember anything? Angel has probably experienced everyone's emotions and memories today.

Nudge shakes her head. "Not full memories. But the _smell_, and the rooms—" she huffs, hugging herself and looking down at her shoes. I give her a moment. "I've been down there before. And honestly, I don't want to know every awful thing he did to me, or to any of us."

I completely get her argument, but still I push. Because I get the opposing argument, too, and I want her to be _sure_. I push—but gently.

"Nudge, I get it. Smells like that have always made my skin crawl—"

"Max, _I've been in those rooms_." I watch her eyes fill up again with insistent tears and she shuts her eyes quickly and with a slight whimper. "You probably have, too. The thing is, I don't need to know the gory details to help. And I, honest to God, don't want to." She blinks, and swipes the wet streaks off her cheeks. Replaces the mask one more time, and says firmly, "I am not going to participate in this investigation."

I don't know what this means for the business side of things, but I know I'm not going to question her again. Whatever she felt today, walking through that lab, she is not okay. I refuse to push any of the kids to go through this if they aren't ready or can't face it. At the end of the day, if there are some things we never remember, maybe that's okay.

But in my case, I need to know. Not because it's my mission or some other shit proclaimed in Jeb's manifesto, but because I need to piece together the puzzle that has been our lives. I feel like we deserve to understand completely whatever Jeb's master plan was. And along the way, we'll discover more about ourselves...and our pasts. It's a double-edged sword, as cliché as they come.

"Nudge, you don't have to," I say gently, my mind still speeding ahead. "I'm sorry you are so shaken up. I expected to remember something today, to be honest. But I didn't."

She sniffles, swiping her poufy hair behind her ear. "Be glad you didn't."

I bite the inside of my cheek. She thinks I've been spared by today's events, concrete against the feelings. Does she forget my mega breakdown at the reveal of Jeb's secret home—beneath levels of secret _lab_, no less?

"I'm just in shock," I say honestly, opening myself up even though it seems scary right now. We'd gotten better at talking, as a Flock, since we'd been settled into our home and living routine lives. We don't hide so much—or we work really hard not to, at least. The more this investigation starts to feel threatening and unsafe, the less I want to be that open. I don't want to let my dark and scary out.

It's been away for so long.

But I'm trying not to shut anyone out. And Nudge just let me in, big time.

"And I'm terrified," I add after a moment. "But...I think I have to help."

Nudge chews on her cheek and lets out a breath, still hugging herself. "You don't _have _to do anything."

She's right. At most I was required to comply with the FBI, but I didn't have to work the case with them. I just was allowed to do that if I wanted to. Before this was a scenario, hell _yes _I wanted to be a part of any investigation against Jeb. I wanted it done right. I wanted our story to be set straight, so we could get on with legal, final lives that we could settle into.

A lot is riding on this. That is part of why I felt I need to help. But also, there's the fact that I'm branded with Jeb's bizarre and unspecific mission to save the world. Though I feel that mission is both out of reach and _bullshit_, I do think I owe myself and everyone else a fucking explanation of what the hell that was all about.

Maybe I don't. Maybe I need to do it for some other reason. Either way...

"Nudge, there are some things that I just have to do."

I feel my body overreacting and succumbing to feelings I don't have time for. Nudge sees my mood change and holds back whatever self-empowerment speech she had prepared. I turn, nodding toward the motel.

"Some of them may feel the same way," I say, trying to sound encouraging. That alone is depressing.

Nudge nods. "Even if they don't, I'm not changing my mind."

"And you shouldn't," I say earnestly, walking beside her. "Now tell me. How are you?"

She shrugs, pausing. "Tried to sleep. Couldn't. No one else except you guys I can really talk to, but at the same time I know Angel has her own shit—"

"Did Angel remember something, too?"

Nudge shrugs. "I don't know much. She doesn't want to talk about it. But she already knew I had remembered something about the place, because she asked me about it."

I sigh, muffling a very low curse. Nudge nods. I was right about my assumption—Angel took the impact of not only her own triggering moments, but everyone else's.

I can't help but wonder why I didn't remember _anything_. It was absolutely foreign. If you'd asked me before I saw the place, I would've told you he probably built it after we'd left. Built on. Built...down, I guess. I don't know. But holy _crap_.

Not a single part of what we experienced this morning is familiar or recognizable to me. Fang had said the same thing to me already. He hadn't experienced any moments of true memory recollection or even déjà vu, beyond the normal, knee-jerk reactions in any hospital-like venue.

We get back inside the room and hear everyone else gathered in Gazzy and Iggy's room. Nudge sighs and pulls on her zipper, shrugging her coat off as we move into the room. She sits on Iggy's bed, up against the headboard with him, and leans her head against his arm.

"Hey," Iggy says, arm wiggling under her head, "get any rest?"

She frowns. "No."

Iggy gets up, heading over to the small kitchenette. "Tea?"

She makes a face at me.

He offers again, "Coffee?"

She leans back into the pillow, blinking. "Yeah, coffee sounds good. Thanks."

"Alright," I say, leaning back against the wall. "How is everyone feeling?"

"Violated," Gazzy offers, looking at me from across the room with a genuine look of half-seriousness and half-humor.

"Overwhelmed," Angel adds before I can respond to Gazzy.

Nudge doesn't wait to pitch in, "Finished here."

Iggy steps toward her, away from the coffee pot. "Nudge?"

"I can't do it, guys. I want to go home."

Her eyes flit to mine. She doesn't want to do exactly this. This is why she came to me, first.

"Nudge, we _have _to—" Iggy starts empathetically, but I cut him off.

"We don't have to do anything."

Gazzy's big eyes meet mine, a flash of quick relief in them at my words. Angel watches me, but isn't giving me much by expression. Iggy looks a little flabbergasted.

"How do we just tell the FBI we don't want to help?" he asks incredulously. "How are they going to corroborate _anything _without us?"

"First of all, I'm going to be there every step of the way no matter what," I say firmly, sealing my own fate and dismissing anymore wondering about the what ifs. "But we've all got our own shit, and our own reasons. We will put him away, no matter what. But if some of you," I say, spinning off of Iggy to the rest of them, "don't want to do this, you don't have to do it."

It only takes a moment of silence then.

"I don't know if I want to do it," Gazzy says.

And then.

"Honestly, me neither."

I spin to look at Fang, taking effort to keep my jaw from dropping open at him.

He looks at me regretfully, but I can see that he's not just saying this. He means it. He doesn't want to dig deeper into this. He's _scared_.

I swallow.

Well, I'm fucking scared, but never imagined doing this without him. Had I selfishly expected him to take the leap with me?

"Max, I'm sorry," he says quietly.

I bite my lip for a minute, trying not to make this a big _Max and Fang_ moment, as the kids would call it. One of those moments they eventually regret being present for, for whatever reason.

"You said you didn't remember anything," I say, not understanding.

He looks at me, his face completely open. This is a rarity, especially with the others in the room.

"I don't," he says firmly. "But _everyone _else did today. You and I are the only ones who don't remember it at all."

I'm taken aback by this, looking at the others for confirmation. My heart clenches as they nod or shrug. Angel just doesn't even _look _at me.

"Guys, but—"

"Maybe he _made _us forget." Fang shrugs. "Maybe we shouldn't remember."

I pull in a shallow, shaky breath. If I do this, I do this without Fang. I dive deep and find things and Fang wants no part of it.

I get it, I do, because of _course _I get it. But at the same time, does he not feel the _demand _I feel to help? Or the loyalty to do this beside me? Thinking about our options hours ago, I had only known I would survive exploring this _hell _of a world Jeb created because we would do it _together_.

"Who here is even willing to help?" I ask finally, not looking at Fang. I am angry at him but know I shouldn't be. I feel officially deserted by my Flock, but only because they're doing exactly what I told them to do, and put themselves first here.

"I'm helping," Iggy says definitively. "Fuck Jeb. Let's get him."

"I'm helping," Angel repeats monotonously, but adds nothing. She makes eye contact with me, but again gives nothing away.

_Not ready to talk about it. _

She pushes the thought to me in lieu of eternal silence. I expect she's listening, and think pointedly, _We can talk, sweetheart. Whenever you're ready. _

I look around one last time. I make eye contact with Fang, and he gives me a look.

"Well, I'm not sure the exact agreements yet," I say, looking down at my phone. "But none of you are locked in. If you decide you want to stop helping you can back out. If you decide you want to know what's being found..."

I trail off, looking at Fang again.

..._you can help me navigate this fucking nightmare and stop being so selfish. _


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Alright, I wanna know when you guys check Fanfiction for an update most often. Like, when should I update? What time of day would work? Lately I update late at night and wait like 12 hours for someone to review. **

**Anyway. Some of these chapters feel tedious. I'm getting so ahead of myself with the storyline in my head, but still trying to flesh out all the details chapter-wise. Idk how I'm doing but I hope the story is easy enough to follow so far. **

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP, for this chaotic universe you gifted us. **

M

I walk out of the room, looking down at my phone to call Alana. It starts ringing as I cross through the girls' room into mine and Fang's.

I'm angry and feeling quite trapped right now, and I really hope Fang finds anywhere else to be because I don't want to deal with him right now. I close the door to our room behind me, trying to send that message.

I sigh and plop onto the bed as the line clicks.

"Max. How are you?"

I feel like she's _really _asking, and it's rare that someone—especially law enforcement—asks me that and means it. I sigh.

"This is...tough," I start, sounding pathetic. If _I _can tell I'm being fake, so can she. "This is really fucking hard. For them. For me. We're divided on whether or not we want to help go through the evidence." I pause, and wait, but she doesn't say anything. She can tell I need to say something else.

"I...feel like I _have _to help."

Alana still takes a second to respond, and when she does it's gentle. "Max, I know this has been a long day. I've been talking with my team about proceeding with evidence recovery. I mean, we've got a few vans full of documents and laptops—this is going to be a long process. The Flock is free to choose how much, if any, of discovery they assist with." Alana pauses, letting that sink in. "You aren't needed to stay in Colorado any longer, I just figured it was best to get that step out of the way."

I breathe out a snort. Best. Absolutely. But she's right, we needed to see it. I'm not sure we would've believed it any other way. I rub my forehead.

"What's our next step?"

"Well, to be quite honest, there is no procedural way to handle a case exactly like this." _No kidding_. "And I refuse to not let you have 100% access to what is found, because it's clear here you aren't suspects and most importantly, you are the _victims_. You deserve the truth more than anyone."

The word _victims _stings, but I know she means well. I also know she's _right_. Suddenly, I feel less unsure about the pull inside me that still, even without Fang's support, begs me to pursue this.

She continues, "I want to send you a department laptop, so you can access the server and all the documents we'll be logging. Everything will need to be officially processed first, so _someone _is going to see each piece of evidence before you do, but I assure you I'll send you all you want. I can get someone to personally deliver the equipment once you're back home."

I push back the part of me that doesn't want her to know where we live. She's FBI, she could figure it out if she dug hard enough. And she's on our side, and I've been over being suspicious of normal people for a while now.

I pull in another slow breath, glancing up at the door. Still closed, surprisingly. Maybe he knows I don't want to be around him right now. Maybe he doesn't want to have to defend himself to me.

Maybe he doesn't even want to be in the room for my phone call. _He doesn't want to do it_.

"That sounds good. Maybe two laptops, if possible," I request softly. "Just so we can cover more ground. But, we're also in school, and I don't want this to take over—"

"Max, the speed at which you view the evidence will not slow down my end," Alana promises. "We are eager to get Batchelder sentenced, so we're going to be focusing on this case one hundred percent."

"Yeah, thank you," I say, shocking myself by truly meaning it. "We...don't really work well with people, but thank you for making it easy."

She hums, thinking. "I'm not sure if I'm the easiest to work with, but I promise you I am dedicated. And patient. Which means I won't give up until we've got him. For good."

I blink, not too overcome by that promise. Outlandish promises have been made to me before, and yet here we are.

"I'm looking forward to it," I say.

"We will definitely be here through the night. Looking like a long night of photographing and collecting from the lower level, now that we have access. This is my personal number, if you want to save it. You can give me a call if you need anything." She takes a minute for her meaning to sink in, and the longer we sit in silence the more awkward and vulnerable I feel.

"Thanks," I say shortly, suddenly feeling uncomfortably exposed. Being on the other end of someone's sympathy is never fun, but especially in the wake of such an overwhelming day. I want to hang up, and pray she doesn't drag this _You can trust me_ out any longer.

She doesn't.

"Thank you for your help today, Max. Get some rest."

We hang up, and I toss my phone onto the bed beside me. I fall backward, dragging my fingers down my face, trying to process the emotions that are piling up in a threatening heap. I hear the door click open and I say from behind my fingers, "Get out, I don't want to talk to you."

"Well, you said whenever I was ready," Angel says lightly, but the effort is barely there.

I sit up quickly, feeling awful. She knows this already but shrugs it off, rolling her eyes at me. She comes to sit with me on the bed and I roll my shoulders, letting my wings spread out and relax into the spare space behind me.

Angel sees me do this and does the same, and I can see her façade crumble just as she relaxes her shoulders. They sag. Her lips are pulled into a troubled frown. She looks way grown up, and _haunted_.

"Angel, are you okay?" I begin cautiously.

Angel looks up at me, looking absolutely nothing like the innocent child I used to see. Her eyes are rolling with an emotion I can't exactly name. A combination of hurt and pain and _knowing_. Knowing pain from her own eyes, and the eyes of everyone else. Today and every day. Her eyes have had a shadow of that for a while now, the older she gets and the more we endure. But _today _her eyes are dark with it, and she looks on the verge of melting down.

"It's a lot, and I'm overwhelmed, but I'm handling it. Flying would help. Are we going home?"

Of course, she'd heard me on the phone. I give her a harder look, not done interrogating her. "Will you talk to me?"

She looks down, away from me again. Her voice gets softer, and she admits reluctantly, "I remember stuff. I've always remembered things from those rooms. I just thought they were memories from the School, until today."

I consider it. She was so young, it makes sense that the timeline and locations could've all blurred together for a while. Or maybe Jeb fucked with her memory, if he did it to Fang and I. So many ifs.

She continues, "They were never important memories. But the whole place was familiar. And I know you know I'm not the only one. Iggy... and Nudge had a rough time. So did Gazzy," she says, her voice breaking. "I mean, everyone did. In their own way. I'm really _tired_."

She ends on the word, which sums up her entire presentation currently. I look her over harder and notice her fingers twisting together in her lap, and teeth tugging at the inside of her cheek. Her eyes, too wise and tired for any normal child.

"Honey, I am so sorry," I say, tugging her into my arms. I cradle her easily, effortlessly, as if it weren't a lifetime ago when I was cradling her small form in my arms, rocking her to sleep after a nightmare. She lets out a slow, quivering breath and relaxes against me for a few moments.

Finally, she sighs and sits up, tucking her curls behind her ear. "When are we going?"

I open my mouth to respond as the door opens again behind me. I spin around to see Fang, looking at me expectantly. He glances past me, eyes landing on Angel, and his lips twitch. He walks into the room, no longer waiting for my impending retort or explosion because Angel is in here. I scoff at him and grab my jacket, tucking my phone in my pocket.

I realize that my annoyance with him is mostly displaced and unfair, but I can't control the burst of frustration I get when he goes about his business in the room without even trying to talk to me about this.

"We're going home," I say, watching him for a moment to see that he doesn't react at all. "We'll be back before eleven if we leave now and fly straight there. I want everyone to get to bed on time."

Angel chokes out a surprised laugh, looking at me incredulously. "If you think any of us are going to school tomorrow..."

I return her look with a _Look_. "You better come up with a good excuse then, because I suck at making them up."

Angel laughs.

"So, what did you decide?" Fang offers.

I look at him, and give him nothing when he makes eye contact with me. "I haven't changed my mind. I don't _bail_."

Why am I being a brat? Maybe because it's in my DNA. Maybe because I really do need him, and he just bailed on me big time—or that's how it feels, at least. I'm immature and like making him suffer when I suffer.

"Angel, can you get everyone ready to leave soon?"

Angel nods and ducks out of the room, letting the door swing closed behind her in that pointed but subtle way she has mastered. _Talk out your shit._

I curse her out of my head and look at Fang, sitting on the bed, looking at his laptop. I watch him for a moment, and it only takes him a second to feel my gaze and sense my expectation.

"Max," he begins, but I don't let him finish.

"I know I'm not really allowed to be angry with you," I blurt. "But I am. I feel like you left me alone to tackle this. I can't believe you aren't going to help me."

His face twists into disbelief and hurt for a moment, before locking back into masked casualty. The most frustrating move of his. Fuck his fucking poker face.

"Max," he starts again slowly, "no one is making you do this. You're choosing to do this—you told me, and everyone else, to make our own choices, too."

"You're full of shit," I hiss. "You _know _I have to do this. You know we'll find out most of this shit anyways. Why would you want to find out in a case file before appearing in court? Don't you want to know its real? Don't you want to have the full picture?"

"No!" he shouts. He stands up, and now we're barely a foot apart, both breathing harder and looking at each other expectantly. "Max, there is _most definitely _a reason you and I don't remember the full picture. This whole thing is _hugely _fucked up, and I don't want to go back."

He reaches for my hands and I give them, letting him pull me closer. I press my nose to his t-shirt, and then slide to lie my cheek on his chest.

"I know I said we can handle anything, but that doesn't mean I think we need to seek the painful shit out."

I curl my fingers into the back of his shirt, bunching it in my fists. "Fang, I don't understand why—"

"I love you," he says. It's so not the first time he's told me this, but it takes me by surprise because it feels out of nowhere. "I love us. I don't want for us to change because of our past. I can still form a good picture of who I am without my past."

I stare at him. It's a lot to take in. He squeezes my hands and drops them, looking at me expectantly.

"I can't form a good picture of myself," I say finally, "without figuring out the truth. The entire picture. The point."

Fang rubs his forehead. "Max, whatever _point _you find in the midst of Jeb's crazy is just _Jeb's _point. Who gives a fuck what he thinks? We are moving forward; we don't need to understand him!"

"_I_ do!"

He doesn't say anything.

"I do need to understand him, Fang. My entire life...is because of him. I need to understand why he did it, and I need to understand what he wanted. I will never know myself until I know myself through this. And I think all of us, eventually, will have the same revelation." I say it with finality, and move to start packing my bag. I'm mad at him, still, and yet I want to hold him again. He doesn't say anything to me, and doesn't get up to start packing yet.

Before I can decide to say something or not, the door opens and Nudge hurries in, looking at me with alarm.

"Are we going home? Already?"

"Is that okay?"

Her face brightens unexpectedly. "Yes! Thank you, Max. I can't wait to get out of here."

I look at her with surprise and only manage a, "We're leaving in five."

She hurries out of the room. I look at Fang.

I can't endure this flight, as long and lonely as it will feel, knowing this is unfinished. But we don't have time to finish it now, so I try to put it on pause.

"Are we good?"

He stands up, closing his laptop, and comes over to me. He drops a kiss on my forehead and grabs his backpack from the dresser.

"We're always good."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: You guys, I am so glad you are on board so far. Thank you a million for still coming around to read. Much love.**

**Warning: Drug use in this chapter. **

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP, for this chaotic universe you gifted us. **

M

Getting home feels like the longest journey ever. I had tried to keep my pace steady, because even though _I _wanted to rush home I wasn't sure they were up for the pace. After two of them had called me out for being "leisurely," I realized we all were on the same page. The faster we would reach home, the better.

Now, walking up to the back porch from landing in our own backyard, I don't feel home. I'm not sure why—this place has been home for a few years, the longest stint of ours in one home since...

I huff, moving up to the porch, unlocking the door and stepping in to disable the alarms. I know why I feel off. We all feel it. Nothing feels _right_. I don't know why I expected it would.

The Gasman bounds into the house behind me, flicking on the lights and throwing down his pack.

"Thank God," he groans, flopping down onto the couch. Iggy moves in past me, nearly tripping on Gazzy's discarded bag.

"Gaz, don't be a dick," Iggy says harshly, picking up the bag and throwing it, hard, in his general direction. Gazzy pales a little at Iggy's tone and grabs the bag as it nearly flies past his face and into the bookshelves.

"Iggy, don't throw shit," I say carefully. "Gaz, you know you can't leave things lying around the house. Go unpack."

He gives me a silent look before dropping the remote on the arm of the couch and heading upstairs with his backpack.

Iggy follows him without a word. Nudge is next to come in the door, probably the most surprising mood I've seen yet. She looks up at me from her phone, looking at me pleasantly.

"I'm going out."

I make an incredulous face at her and look past her at the clock hanging over the kitchen sink.

"It's ten thirty, on a Sunday. Where are you going?"

Fang and Angel finally make it inside, and Fang closes and locks the door. He steps behind me to reset the security alarms and I move out of the way. I head to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle from the door.

"I had to miss my date yesterday," Nudge levels with me, making it clear this is another one of those decisions she does not want to budge on. Too fucking bad.

"Doesn't mean you reschedule for the _moment _you get home on a Sunday night."

"Max, _please _do not—"

"Where are you going?"

Nudge looks at me with sincere incredulity. "Are you serious right now? Is it your turn to be the protective parent? It's Fang's night off from thinking either of you have any actual say in _what I do_?"

Maybe I would've bitten, if this was years ago. But she's honestly right, and trying to micromanage any of them right now will only cause more of an explosion. The one thing none of us react well to is having our options taken away. I don't want to take her freedom, but I also don't want to let her do anything stupid.

"I'm not doing this with you," I say finally, glancing up at Fang, who's the only one still in the room. Everyone else has disappeared upstairs already. "Be careful."

Nudge relaxes a little once I wave the white flag, and her shoulders lower as she sighs. "We're just going to go to a movie," she says finally. "I'll be home in a few hours."

"Okay," I say quietly. She nods at me, and turns to head upstairs to get ready. I let my eyes slide over to Fang. He asks me without asking: _What is going on in your head?_

I take a second, trying to collect my thoughts, and be _honest _here. Honesty, lately, is exhausting.

"I don't really want to talk about it anymore," I start. He thinks I'm avoiding, and opens his mouth to challenge me, so I finish hastily. "I'm trying to support your decision because I _do _understand, but I'm scared and I don't want to think about what doing this without you is going to look like."

Fang leans against the wall, crossing his arms. It takes him a moment to say anything to me, which is infuriating and making me more and more anxious. Everyone feels one word away from blowing up right now. I successfully navigated Nudge, and I hope to God I can navigate Fang right now, too.

"Why do you call it _doing it without me_?" he asks finally.

I look at him skeptically. "Are you kidding?"

"I'm still here."

"Oh, God, bravo, Fang!" I say, being a shithead, but the way he hints at his point like this makes me want to punch him. "I forgot we live together. Now I don't just have to go through it all on my own, I also have to resist the urge to talk to you about it!" I huff, take a second, and bring my voice down.

"You know," I say, quieter and calmer, "I will _only _want to talk to _you _about it. Discovering it without you right there with me won't be the hard part, I can open sketchy files on my own and I have before. But not being able to tell you or talk to you about it? I don't know how we're supposed to do it."

Fang watches me. I fiddle with my water bottle, waiting for him to tell me how we're going to do this without someone, any one of us, falling to pieces.

"Max, I can't...I can't willingly put myself there anymore," he says, looking away from me. I remember the Fang I used to know, the running-to-survive Fang. The one who wanted to say fuck it to the mission and run off to an island when we were fourteen. And that was back when we _believed _in the mission, at least somewhat.

He never wanted this. He kept doing it, kept living the life he hated, to be by my side.

He clears his throat. "This is not going to be my entire story," he says. "It's not yours either, or any of us. And some of us," he gestures to me once before tucking his hand back into his arm across his chest, "we have to know. Never stop wondering. I get that. But I _can _stop wondering." His eyes finally slide up to find mine.

"I can stop, finally," he whispers. "This feels like the first and last chance I'm going to get."

I blink, trying to process this, feeling _still _so frustrated by his resistance to the idea that it's hard for me to empathize. At the same time, it's not, and it's starting to feel like _I _don't want to do it, either.

But can I stop _wondering_?

"What about when it goes to trial?" I get out with a struggle. "I mean, you're going to learn some stuff eventually, and I feel like this just pushes that off—"

Fang rolls his eyes. "Everything I already remember and know about Jeb could put him in jail," he retorts. "None of this is necessary."

"Are you _insane_?" I put my fingers over my eyes because I don't want him to see my face absolutely crumble. His nonchalance about the entire scenario, in stark contrast with my own life-threatening importance surrounding the whole thing—I'm going to explode. It'll either be into immediate, inconsolable tears, or straight out the backdoor into the air.

"From now on, we don't talk about this," I say harshly. "Because I understand being scared and worried, but acting like this isn't _necessary_—you're either scared, and masking it poorly, or you're being an asshole."

Fang's still watching me, unimpressed. "Fine."

"Fine," I huff, walking past him toward the backdoor. Nudge is coming down the steps, glancing between the two of us before checking her phone.

"He's here, I'll see you later," she says.

"Bye, please be safe," I call out, using up the rest of my Mom energy for the day. I reach for the backdoor knob, and Fang steps toward me.

"Max."

"_What_, Fang?" I'm being an asshole, now, too. It's contagious.

I look at him when he doesn't say anything right away. His face is still open, expressive. He wants this to not be the end. He wants to help me feel better. He wants to remind me why we even have a chance at making this fucked up situation work in the first place.

"Can I come with you?"

My heart clenches. There's a reason he's my person. Whether it's because he was made for me in a lab, or not. Through the anger and betrayal and fear I feel, still, the ache for his companionship.

"Please," I say, opening the door and pressing a button on the security panel to allow us to leave without setting off our alarms. Fang smiles gently at me and reaches for his coat, then thinks twice and moves back into the kitchen. I hear a drawer pull open and slide shut quickly, and he comes around the corner, slipping a plastic bag into his pocket.

My eyes widen, finally realizing where the stash was. "He keeps it in the _kitchen_?" I hiss.

"Who else goes in the kitchen except Iggy?"

I roll my eyes. "Oh, my God. Is he gonna be mad you took that?"

Fang gives me a look. "it's fine. Come on."

Once we're outside, I zip up my jacket against the nighttime chill. Fang is already pulling the baggie out of his pocket. I scoff at him as I roll my shoulders, letting my wings extend and stretch behind me.

"We're not going to smoke the whole thing," he says. "And I should put the other half back, because I have a feeling he'll need it in a few hours."

He pulls a tightly rolled joint out of the bag. Iggy's pot-smoking habit has been around for a while, since we last tried going to a normal high school. I've never really enjoyed the state of being high, but for Iggy it helps a lot with his anxiety. I know Fang has never had a complaint about it, either.

And honestly, there are worse things we could be into. I remind myself to tell Iggy to move his stash, though, because I do not want the kids stumbling onto it.

Fang lights it unceremoniously and takes a long pull. He holds it in, looking up at the sky and breathing in, more, holding the smoke. He holds it out to me.

Usually I don't, because it makes me feel like I'm in overdrive. But I'm already in overdrive, and how much worse can it get?

Not the soundest logic, but I think since I'm aware of that, it's okay I let it slide. Anything that will alter reality, at least a little right now, sounds worth it. _Again, horrible reasoning_.

I take a hit, a quick one, and let it exhale through my nose. I pass it back to him and stretch my wings again, this time forward. I reach up and try to touch the top of my wings, as far as I can reach. This is one of the most delicious stretches for my wings and my back, but usually there's no room inside.

"Keep stretching," Fang murmurs, watching me and taking another drag from the lit joint. I roll my eyes at him, laughing, already feeling looser and higher. He tries to give it back to me, and I shake my head.

"I know my limits," I say. "Any more of that and I'll be paranoid as hell. Sat up all night on the roof one time, listening for threats."

Fang snickers at me, taking one last hit before putting it out on the underside of the porch railing.

"I'm serious!" I insist. "Are you gonna put that inside?"

He nods, and turns to go inside to tuck it back into its hiding place. I keep testing the muscles of my wings and back. First time any of us have done so much long-distance flying in one day. My mind is sharper like this, or at least it feels like it. That's the best part of partaking, for me—usually I get to a place where it is very easy to just exist in the moment. As long as I don't go overboard.

Too much, and I _hear _things and _see _things. I've done enough of hearing and seeing unbelievable things today, so it's nice to get away.

Fang comes back out, this time shutting the door gently and zipping his jacket up, too. I check the door one more time and then follow him silently across the yard, leaping into the air behind him and leaving our troubling reality behind for a while.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Oof. Here we go? **

**I say that, as if I know where we're going! Thanks a million and much, much love.**

**Warning: More drug use. **

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP, for this chaotic universe you gifted us. **

M

As we come back to the house, only an hour later, Fang swoops down next to me and says, "Called it."

I look ahead. Iggy is sitting out on the porch, smoking coiling up from the joint in his hand. I roll my eyes and land beside Fang in the yard, slowing from a jog to a walk, curling my wings once my legs are stable on the ground.

"Welcome back."

I look Iggy over. I hadn't gotten a chance to check in with him or Gazzy back at the motel in Colorado. He looks normal, except for the tightness between his eyes. They slide closed as he takes another hit.

"We smoked some," I admit, although I know he knows that already.

"I know."

"I know you know, but still."

As we walk up onto the porch, Iggy holds it out again to offer. Fang takes it.

"How are you?"

"After talking to Gazzy, I'm thinking I lucked out," he said. "I mean, I didn't _see _stuff that I remember. Gazzy did," he says, gazing outward toward the forest. He turns back to us, Fang tapping the back of his hand before offering him the joint back. "I'm sure the girls did, too. You guys didn't recognize _anything_. Wonder what that means."

I chew my lip, glancing at Fang who looks heavily uncomfortable. He puts his hand on Iggy's shoulder and squeezes.

"I'm going to bed," he says shortly, giving me a look before going in. Iggy rolls his eyes. I sit in the chair next to him. I watch him gently feel out his ashtray and leans forward to ash it. He's in his pajamas but with a coat on and boots. I see a smaller, fabric zipper bag on the table: his real stash. I realize the one in the kitchen isn't really there for Iggy, but for Fang.

"Stop hiding weed in the kitchen for Fang to find," I scold lightly, reaching for it from him. He gives it to me, snickering halfheartedly.

"Hey, it was a good halfway point."

I take a little puff, handing it back and tucking my hands into the lined pockets of my coat. It was a good one, and Nudge had convinced me to splurge on it. We all bought nice, brand new coats from a department store one day, and then Nudge went to work hand sewing wing slits in the back.

Life changing.

"I'm guessing by his mood you weren't able to convince Fang to change his mind."

"I didn't try."

Iggy looks at me incredulously. "What the fuck?"

I make a face at him, and get frustrated that he can't read me. I flick his hand on the arm rest between us.

"I get his side. But... I have to know. I'm not going to make anyone do anything they don't want to."

Iggy shakes his head. Doesn't say anything.

"He said this was all _unnecessary_."

Iggy scoffs. "Okay, well that part was for _you_," Iggy says pointedly at me, taking the last pull and then putting it out. He leans back in his chair. "He doesn't think _you _should do it, and probably isn't doing it with you so he can focus on keeping you from falling apart."

I don't even challenge his take on it, because he's always right on point. He predicts Fang's unrealistic _Prince Charming _side so much better than I ever could.

"Think about it, Max," Iggy says, leaning toward me. I feel like he's talking weird...maybe just slowly, for emphasis? I blink a few times at him, but he obviously doesn't notice. "He can't do it instead of you, because _you _need to do this. But you dive in, find out some really horrifying, triggering shit—how's he supposed to protect you if he's also being triggered. You can't both be a mess at once."

I am at a loss at this conspiracy idea. "Did he say that?"

My voice is different; higher, and a little hysterical. Iggy's face changes in realization and he laughs out loud.

"You're stoned."

"Shush."

"He didn't say that, he doesn't have to," Iggy says quietly, turning to gaze out toward the yard, half-hiding his face from me. "He's not the only one who thinks about how to protect you."

I shut up, at a loss for that. Iggy doesn't show that side to me often. He's with that with the younger three, all the time. But less so to me. It's always Max protecting Flock, Fang protecting Max.

"But I figure, fuck it, we can still support each other if we're both getting triggered. Better that than this outsider shit Fang's trying to pull. Maybe he is scared. Or maybe he actually remembers something. But under it all, he's trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?" He's right, I totally am too high for this conversation, probably, but he's either unworried or unphased.

He reaches for his bag and pulls out the things he needs to roll another. "From you, Max."

He says it like I should know already. Maybe I do. They've watched me make decisions with no concern for my own safety too many times—they've seen me saw open my own arm, for God's sake.

"Fine. Fair. Whatever. I didn't talk him out of it. I told him we're done talking about it."

Iggy scoffs. "That'll work."

I am not the best detector of sarcasm right now, but I know that's what that is, because I'm _also _skeptical that this course of action is the right one.

"Dude, I gotta go the bed," I say. "Did Nudge get home?"

"Not yet."

I groan. "Know anything about the boy she's with?"

"Which one?"

I realize I also don't know which one. Damn. Negative Mom points, for real.

"Fuck it, I don't know. Not going to bed until she gets here, though. You hungry?"

He holds up his newly rolled joint. "I will be."

I roll my eyes at him before moving inside, grabbing my water bottle again. I rummage through the pantry, looking for inspiration so I know what to tell Iggy to make when he gets inside. It's quiet in the house. I can hear a video game playing from upstairs. Angel comes downstairs, wringing her hair in a towel.

"How was the shower?" I ask.

"Much needed," she says. "I need a snack, then I'm going to bed."

"Iggy's gonna come make something, once he's done."

She glances out the window at his reclined form, taking a slow pull. I wince.

"I think he thought you were asleep."

Angel laughs. "_Absolutely _already knew about that."

I frown, not sure that's good, but she also seems to have no interest in it whatsoever.

"Well, what else do you know?"

Angel looks at me with a glimmer of mischief.

"_Your _secrets, or someone else's?"

I recoil slightly. Does she know I'm high? "You're scary."

She grins. "Well, Nudge texted she's on her way home. Gazzy is playing Xbox, rather aggressively, but I'm not seriously concerned. Fang's on his laptop typing away like he's on a mission and Iggy—" she glances over her shoulder, sees him standing up and gathering his things. "Is probably finally going to be able to chill out."

She looks at me, but he's coming in the door, so she says in my head: _He didn't have as many memories triggered, but the revelation of the lab hit him hard. Like you and Fang. _

I frown. I know we're all feeling betrayed, amidst other things. I know Iggy has always struggled with trusting Jeb, but there was a time when we _all _did. I think all of us had been convinced at one time or another that he wasn't only a bad guy.

"Ugh," Iggy exclaims with exaggeration. "It's stuffy in here. Max, please stop worrying, I can't breathe." He comes further into the kitchen and says, "Who else is down here?"

"I'm hungry," Angel says airily, with a big grin.

"Okay, Hungry, what would you like to eat this evening?"

Angel pops out of her seat and heads into the pantry closet, Iggy following her. Just like that Iggy transforms, always, for the kids. The magical chef, making delicious snacks out of nothing. This hobby of his only happened when Jeb left, and we discovered right away that I was not a capable cook. Fang was the first to offer to cook, but Iggy demanded to help and turned out to be better than Fang.

Not only was he a good cook, but he made it fun. A happy, enchanting distraction for Gazzy and Angel from the fact that Jeb was missing.

They emerge from the pantry, ingredients including pasta noodles, tomatoes and basil in hand.

"We're making pasta!"

I roll my eyes at Angel's level of enthusiasm, but they get to work on it immediately, with more fervor than I could even try to scramble up.

Angel's phone buzzes. I lean over to look. It's Nudge.

"I think Nudge is home," I say, sliding off my barstool. As I approach the front door, the porch sensor-light flickers on. I see her walking up from the drive with a guy. He's tall, and clean, and is smiling at her. I push the curtain closed and go back to the kitchen.

Iggy is chopping tomatoes, dicing them perfectly. He's swift and confident with the knife.

"How did you get so good at cooking?" Angel asks him, trying to mimic his technique as she cuts the basil.

"You know, I think the biggest mistake you can make when you cook is overthink it," Iggy says quietly. "It's not really a job, it's an experience. You just kind of feel it out."

"Doesn't work for all of us," I pitch in, sliding back onto my stool. Angel grins at me over her shoulder. Iggy finishes the tomato and turns to point at me.

"She is the exception to the rule."

The front door opens, and Nudge shoulders her bag to disarm the security alarm. She glances up, a fresh blush on her face. "Hey."

"Hey, how was the movie?"

The blush deepens. "Good."

Iggy wiggles his eyebrows. "How good?"

Nudge rolls her eyes. "Are you cooking? I'm starving." She comes up to sit next to me at the counter. She sniffs me.

"You smell like weed."

I scoff, looking at her first and then a laughing Angel. "Okay, I guess don't tell Gazzy? Does he know, too? Are we just open about this, now?"

"Way to go, Max," Iggy scolds, as if I've blown his secret.

"He smells, too!" I accuse, pointing a finger at Iggy. He flinches like he can feel it.

"Wow! Well the _shower _was occupied, thank you! Maybe if _someone _had listened to my idea for a shower schedule—"

"No one wants to be on a shower schedule, Iggy!"

From behind me comes an amused voice. "What is going _on_?"

I spin around to see the Gasman, with his Xbox headset around his neck, standing at the foot of the steps with a grin. "Are we discussing the shower schedule thing again?"

"Iggy, there are _two _showers in the house," Nudge says in all seriousness. "You _don't _have to wait on mine."

"It is not _your _bathroom, just because you have your own entrance! It is a hall bathroom! You have a _shortcut_!" He huffs, going back to cooking. "And yours has the good showerhead."

Gazzy sighs, hopping onto the stool by Nudge. "The water pressure in there is—" he kisses his fingers and throws it in the air.

"See? _Yours_?" She echoes him.

Iggy spins, glaring, pasta tongs in hand. "Nudge, you don't get to claim one bathroom to yourself!"

Laughing, I hold my hands up. "Yo, let's table the shower schedule debate."

Iggy grumbles, and Nudge snorts while she gets up to get a drink from the fridge. "Where's Fang?"

"Upstairs."

Nudge rolls her eyes, pulling out a can of soda. She closes the fridge and walks into the living room.

"Fang! You're being lame, come downstairs!" she hollers towards upstairs.

She waits there for a moment until she hears his door open. She grins at me successfully and takes her seat again.

He comes downstairs, still in his clothes, face drawn shut. He sees us all gathered and immediately tries to hide the fact that he was just totally going hard on some research or article.

This is how he's going to distract himself. Keep himself away from the discovery of new evidence. Maybe it will work. It might be enough. But at the end of the day, when we come together, I will still want to confide in him.

How do I live with knowing things about us that he doesn't want to face?

"Hey, come bond with us, we're making pasta," Iggy calls over his shoulder. "Angel, grab two more boxes of noodles, I did not plan for this."

Fang comes up behind me, kissing the back of my head. I tug on the pocket of his jeans, which is as far as my hand can reach without really reaching. His fingers brush my hair off my shoulders and his thumbs begin to rub slow, firm circles on my neck. I groan.

Iggy snaps the tongs at us. "None of that in here, I swear to _God_—"

I laugh and flip him the bird, which the Gasman narrates, so Iggy responds in kind. He goes back to making pasta, and for a moment we can all exist, post-Revelation, okay. We're shaken, but we're okay, and we're still us. I was so scared to lose this.

I hope we never do.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Sorry for being MIA. I know it feels like I'm stalling...I'm just dealing with shit. Trying to write more, hopefully on a reg. schedule. Story will start to pick up soon...just bear with me. Thanks for being patient, letting me set the scene. More and more of this story come to me each day. It's been a blast so far. **

**Much love, M**

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP, for this chaotic universe you gifted us. **

M

I see her before she sees me. I'm sitting with my back to the wall in the back corner of the restaurant. It's only eleven, so the lunch rush is just getting started. She scans the crowd of people in the front before her eyes find me.

I wave, lifting my hand for a second. I'm looking around, too, but for different reasons. I'm not looking for anyone, just looking _out_. My fingers twitch while I glance over the patrons at the bar and scattered in the dining area. All inconspicuous and overall unremarkable, but I still can't help but scan for any _hint _of threat in the lunch-goers.

"Max," she says when she finally reaches me. I sit back, giving her a tense smile.

"I hope you understand why I wanted to meet somewhere less..."

"Personal?" She shrugs. "I get it. Considering your history with the feds, I don't blame you. And... I want to be able to trust you with this."

She doesn't say it threateningly, but still the comment makes my skin crawl. I look at her, and I know she's worried about handing over anything government-issued without knowing my location.

I pull out a yellow sticky note that's folded in half and push it over to her. She picks it up and just puts it in her pocket.

"Just don't enter it into any database," I say lowly. "Don't save it electronically."

She blinks at me, then nods, lifting her bag off the seat next to her and onto the table. n

"Two laptops in here," she says, patting the bag. "Just as you requested."

I nod, not reaching for it yet. "You'll also find our first briefing in there, summarizing the information we've found in the documents we've shared with you. What will be used in the trial, any additional charges. You know." She brushes loose hair behind her ear, trying to lock her eyes with mine. "Max?"

"It's just a lot," I say quickly. Tightly.

She smiles. "I know you've waited a while for this," she says softly. "I'm sorry the procedure is slower than preferable. Getting the right approval and permissions..." she trails off, because she knows I don't care about any of the red tape bullshit. "We're already well underway logging our next batch of evidence, so we'll meet again as soon as you're ready."

I nod. Alana's face turns with a little twinge of sadness. "Max, if you ever change your mind, you are welcome to do this part in D.C., at headquarters." She smiles. "There's a whole team working day and night on this case, and I have a feeling starting this process will be lonely for you."

Again, I'm shocked by Alana's ability to be 100% straightforward and honest. She's also not wrong, and I know she knows that. She'd gotten written statements from the three of us who _were _helping, agreeing to the preliminary terms of the discovery of evidence. She had checked with me when she hadn't gotten Fang's. Her exact words were, _I think you forgot an attachment, I don't see Fang's form. _

"It will be," I say lightly. "But also it won't. We stick together, no matter what."

She chews her cheek, looking down at the bag. Her eyes flit back up to me, and she says, "If there is _any _news, I'll call. Thanks for meeting me. Let me know if you need anything."

"Okay, I will," I say, and it sounds convincing, even. I sound like I will, like I actually think I will call Alana if this mid-youth crisis becomes too much for me to handle. She smiles and stands, ready to leave.

I look down at the bag, emotions welling in me and making my throat dry. I had flown two hours to meet Alana today, partially so her drive wouldn't be so long and also so she wouldn't know exactly where our house was. If she doesn't already.

The less people who know our location, the better. We don't want to pick up unwanted attention from anyone dangerous. It's not that I think she's a threat, but no one can be ruled out right now. Which is why I have to ask for one more thing.

"Alana?"

She looks up at me from zipping up her coat.

"I want to see Jeb."

She pauses, looking into my expression for any clue as to why I would want to see this man who turned my life upside down.

"Not yet," I say quickly, blinking, and looking down at the bag again. "Not until we've gone through it all. But I know I will want to, and I'll need you to be able to make that happen for me."

Alana nods, slowly. "You were close with him."

As if she didn't know already. I glance up at her.

"Tell me you can do it."

"I'll make it happen, Max," she says softly. "In fact, I'm writing up a more formal agreement. I'll be sending it for you to sign sometime next week. It will outline our terms for working together and procedural guidelines for anything regarding this case. I will be sure that's in there, too."

I nod, exhaling slowly. "Okay. Thank you."

"You too, Max." She starts to make her way toward the door, weaving through the even busier crowd of patrons.

I wait until she's fully out of sight and scoop the bag off the tabletop, turning and heading for the back door. I make one more sweeping scan of the restaurant and then duck out the back door, where the parking lot is.

My phone buzzes.

_How's it going?_

I frown, and then curse out loud when betraying emotions like anger and resentment heat my face. I tuck my phone into my pocket without answering, zip my jacket up and take off, heading home.

He would know how it's going if he had been here. And I respect his decision to stay out of it, I do—or maybe I respect that opinion coming from anyone except him. When everyone gets to bail, he _usually _doesn't. He sticks it out by my side. He follows me anywhere.

Except here.

It's been weeks since we first found out. It had taken Alana two weeks to call me, and then we had worked to set up a time and place to meet so she could give me the computers. The hiatus from this new mission was well needed among the flock, and everyone had gone back to their normal lives with ease since the revelation of the underground lab.

Fang is the only one who knew where I was today, meeting the FBI agent who was giving us our first round of evidence.

Evidence that only half of us really wanted access to.

We'd decided already, weeks ago, that the office was officially the only space where evidence would be discussed, studied, or stored. If this was going to work, we needed boundaries.

I frown and pull my phone back out. _I'm heading back now. _

He responds almost immediately. It's almost tucked into my pocket again before it buzzes again.

_How'd it go?_

I scoff, and strongly consider throwing my phone in frustration. Realizing how dangerous that could be for anyone or thing below me, I refrain from responding with a curt _I thought you didn't want to know anything about the investigation? _He should know better than to try to be here for me when he made it abundantly clear that he doesn't want details.

_Fine. _That's what I really send. I tuck my phone away and power ahead, hoping to cut my flight home down by half an hour.

I have a lot of work to do.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: OOF. Life is HARD. Please continue to forgive and forget my typos. **

**Disclaimer: James Patterson owns the characters and any recognizable canon info. Thanks JP, for this chaotic universe you gifted us. **

M

I had thought Fang had been the only one to know where I was going today. When I get home, I am informed that is not the case.

"Angel ditched school today and it was too late before I realized so we didn't call yet because I'm not a guardian," Iggy says, sounding rehearsed, standing in the entrance the _moment _I open the door.

I glare past him at Angel, who smiles at me from the kitchen breakfast bar, waving her spoon at me before dipping back into the pupping cup in her hand.

"Fang's a guardian, where is he?"

Iggy shrugs.

I blink. I don't think I have any texts from him. I feel like he would've told me if he wasn't going to be here.

"Why did you skip school?" I say pointedly, narrowing in on Angel.

Angel rolls her eyes. "Because I knew you would get home and dive in without me. I got to school and mind-controlled the nurse. _Don't _yell at me, I know it was wrong."

My mouth flaps open and closed like a fish. Not sure _why _I thought Angel wouldn't know my plan already. But I hadn't expected her to be diving into my head that frequently... since we'd settled down, she had started digging in our minds on a daily basis less and less.

I guess that's out the window. She grins, following my train of thought. I curl my fingers into fists.

"I get to yell at you!"

Iggy butts in, excitement lightly his face, "Where were you, Max? Dive in? Did you get it?"

"Max, just breathe," Angel says airily. I am so close to unraveling, probably closer than I could've imagined, and I try to actually do what she says.

When I'm done, I say, "If I could even try to ground you, I would."

She wiggles her wings at me in response. "Kinda hard to ground me."

I huff. "I know. Someone find out where Fang is."

"Why don't you?" Iggy asks, sauntering back into the kitchen to his own pudding.

"I don't want to, and I asked one of you to do it," I mumble. I try not to show my feelings on my face too much, but it doesn't matter; Iggy can't see, Angel is reading my own thoughts better than I am, and my voice portrayed a lifetime's worth of annoyance without my permission already.

Iggy reaches for his phone on the counter and Angel says eerily, "Don't bother."

I look at her, alarmed. A moment later, the door opens and Fang ducks in, looking up at the three of us and making absolutely no facial expression.

"Did you follow me?" I blurt, taking in his windswept hair and the way his wings keep curling forward and back, slow and calculated stretches we do after long flights.

"Follow you where?" he retorts. I fume. The original plan was for him to pretend not to know what I did, so that it wasn't both of us keeping the kids out of it—it would just be _me _keeping everyone else out of it.

I spin away from him, annoyed even _more _because he knows how to do that.

"Max, calm down," Angel says, still holding onto that careless, reckless façade. "He only followed you halfway."

"Okay," I finally explode, slamming my hand down on the counter. "This 'Watch out for Max' bit stops _now_. Let's not forget the chain of command."

Fang won't even meet my eyes and Iggy doesn't feign trying, because he absolutely thinks he's the one seeing through _my _bullshit right now. It's been like this since the discovery of the lab. Since Fang announced himself out of the mission. Everyone around me has been trying to take care of me, and I personally cannot stand it for one more second.

Angel rolls her eyes again.

"If you roll your eyes at me again, I will _figure out_ a way to ground you! Go to your room, please. Everyone get out of my face."

I'm not sure any of them expected _that _explosion. My anger has just become palpable, and I see their movement happen all at once. Angel frowns and turns to go upstairs, thankfully refraining from trying to get the last word. Probably because she's still picking my brain apart.

_Stop_.

Fang retreats upstairs as well, not a single word to me or anyone. He's probably angry Angel ratted him out, but that will fade easily. As if I wasn't going to find out he was trailing me? How much of this mission is he going to do while trying _not _to do it? Trying to _protect _me?

I turn back to look at Iggy and he was out of his seat, but not heading out of the room. He's casually heading to the office with the bag.

"Iggy, what are you doing?"

I follow him toward the office, pulling the bag off his shoulder like a child. He makes an annoyed face down in my direction.

"You're not doing this part yourself. Stop."

I'm quiet for a second, twisting my fingers and staring at the black bag I'd dropped on the desk.

"I don't know if I want to do it yet."

Iggy's eyes soften a little. He shrugs, and pushes a finger through his hair. Realizes he can't start without me. "I guess we should wait, anyways." Immediately his mood shifts, and he turns to leave the office and make his way seamlessly back to the kitchen. I follow him, surprised by how easy that was.

"Your mom and Ella get in tonight," he says, pulling ingredients out of the refrigeration by the armful. "Angel and I went to the store this morning. Should we make chicken enchiladas or the carbonara?"

I give him a look, which is wasted. "Enchiladas or pasta? Any reason those are the only two choices?"

Iggy's lip twitches, but he says nothing.

I grin. "In that case, the enchiladas. Those are her favorite. And did you get—"

He laughs. "The worst wine in the world? I did. Not sure why her taste is so basic. Good God. I got some the rest of us will stomach."

I roll my eyes, deciding he's got this covered. He apparently thought about it _all day_, but I'm not having that conversation right now.

"I'll be right back."

He doesn't even answer me. I find Fang's door closed when I go upstairs, and frown. I knock gently, but don't even hear him inside. I sigh and turn down the hall to my own bedroom.

I yelp a little when I open the door and see Fang sitting comfortably on my bed with his laptop.

"Hello."

He looks up at me. Grins a little. I give him a halfhearted glare. "Stop making this harder."

"I could say the same thing to you."

I take my jacket off and crawl onto my bed, sitting next to him. He shuts his laptop.

I roll over, laying halfway on him, spreading myself out and stretching my wings until I feel my feathers brush the roof, thankfully missing the ceiling fan.

"Watch it," Fang says halfheartedly, scolding my use of outdoor stretches on top of him. I let my wings fold, resting on top of us as a fluffy blanket. Fang's fingers stroke through my feathers gently.

"How far did you really follow me?"

"All the way." He says softly, squeezing me hard. And I realize in that moment, in the tip of his voice and the way he holds me, that I'm not the only one scared here. He's on edge just as much as me, so my internal thought that he's sitting back, no problem, watching me flail alone handling this—that's not true. It's just not true. It's more complicated than that.

"She didn't say anything about it," I say quietly. "You could've just come with me."

Fang is quiet for a second. "I think they'll come after me eventually," he says quietly. "I think they're going to uncover the magnitude of just what Jeb was doing, and they're going to eventually need _all _of us."

He adjusts under me, turning to look down at me across my pillow. I turn onto my side, curling into him. His hand spreads out and holds my lower back, thumb brushing slowly between the base of my wings.

"None of us will _stay _out. The more they find out—they're going to finally understand how much he's capable of. I'm worried about being involved with the FBI, I'm worried about getting dragged into this, when the time comes."

He stops, having said enough already. I chew on this idea, silent too, because he's not _that _far off. If the house really held all the dirt on Jeb, it was only a matter of time before this blew up in our faces.

"It's inevitable," I say finally, gently. "And I'm terrified as hell, but I'd rather see it coming any way I can than hide until it finds me."

Fang scoffs. Our open and honest zone is halted as I feel his mood change. His hand drops from my back.

"Fang."

He frowns at me. "I'm not going to keep trying to prove to you that my decision was valid."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, my God, why are we doing this?"

"Quit it, Max," Fang says, sitting up. We fully disconnect now, and he gets up. I sit on my bed, missing his warmth, wondering what I said. "I'm not hiding."

Oh, Jesus.

"Aren't you?" blurts out of my mouth before I can stop it, and Fang's face settles into hard, unforgiving lines.

"Wait, Fang—" but he's already out of my room, heading far away from me. I realize I should give him a moment before I chase him down and make him listen to my apology. I realize, on top of that, that I need time to actually _mean _my apology as much as I meant what I said to him.

Because I'm a stubborn, grudge-holding monster.

I head back downstairs, hoping that isn't where Fang is, and see Iggy hard at work in a kitchen he's transformed into an enchilada factory. He has four pans spread out and is systematically filling them full of saucy wonderfulness.

I sit down across from him on one of the stools at the island. He tilts his head in my direction as he continues to seamlessly fold and stuff enchiladas.

"Are we doing too much?"

Iggy snorts. "We haven't even started yet."

"Once we do, there's no turning back."

Iggy shrugs. I'm getting really annoyed by how casually he can take life-changing chaos in stride. "Max, there's already no turning back. We were brought into this fucked up world, and immediately there was no turning back."

I make a face at him, since that was less than helpful. Shadows shift on the wall behind the fridge, so I turn to peer out onto the patio. The afternoon sun shines in right over the tree line in the backyard, casting the dining room and kitchen in a warm, orangey glow.

Nudge and Gazzy's forms, approaching the patio with wings wide open from landing, were casting the shadows. Long, abstract and ever-changing shapes. They enter the main living room with a sense of urgency, ignoring the alarm system beeping impatiently for the code.

"Angel wasn't at school today apparently?" Nudge says, fear bright in her eyes. "She wasn't there, we waited until all the busses left and everything—"

I take in Nudge and Gazzy's horrified and worried faces and rush out the words, "She's already home, she ditched this afternoon."

Nudge's eyes open in surprise at that information, her shoulders relaxing with an exhale that pushed all her panic away. She frowns. "What the hell, why didn't we get the memo?"

"I didn't know until I got home," I say without thinking, and Gazzy butts in curiously.

"Where did you go today?"

I glance over at Iggy, who isn't even listening. He's focused on his enchiladas.

"I got the first batch of evidence from Alana today," I admit, since everyone else already knows. "We haven't started yet."

Both of them don't say anything right away. Gazzy breaks away first, excusing himself to change out of his school clothes. Nudge goes into the kitchen and sets her bag down, but she has a thoughtful look on her face.

"How is this really gonna work?" she says softly when she sees me watching her. She drops into the chair next to me at the island.

I exhale a laugh. "I have no idea."

Angel comes down the stairs, pulling her curls up into a bun. "Val's going to be here soon, Max!"

"How soon? How do you know?"

I pull out my phone, checking my notifications, but nothing. At that moment, the alarm beeps quickly three times. Someone is requesting to pull into the driveway.

We'd gone all out with the house security system when we were finally able to settle down. Though the house itself could stand to have a few updates, we had really focused on making the lot itself as secure as possible, while still allowing ourselves easy access to come and go as we pleased.

This included a fully-fenced front and back yard, with a secure gate for entry. Usually we don't use the gate. Because we don't drive.

I cross to the front door, activating the code for the gate when I recognize Val's SUV. I cast a glance at Angel, who's grinning at me from the couch. I pull in a long breath, realizing that hashing it out with Fang and starting to dig through evidence all would have to wait.

"Val and Ella are pulling up," I call out, hoping the boys upstairs can hear me. I continue watching as they park and _three _doors of the vehicle open. Val steps out of the driver's seat and peers toward the house, spotting me at the window and smiling. Ella climbs out of the backseat behind her, pulling her blue duffel bag over her shoulder and scooping all of her hair up and over her shoulder.

A man gets out of the passenger seat. He has a briefcase.

Things just got interesting.

"Scratch that. Val and Ella and New Guy."

Iggy's head pulls up from enchilada-making, way too interested in that new development.

"Who the fuck is _New Guy_?"


End file.
